Sinners & Saints
by Alexis.Danaan
Summary: Darcy's always been the kind of girl to dive in head first, but sometimes that's how you end up paralysed from the neck down.
1. Chapter 1

"_We've all got meanness in us...But we have some good in us too._

_And the only thing worth living for is the good." –Billie Letts_

Darcy looked up at the sudden burst of noise, audible even over the music blasting through her headphones, and put down the soldering gun she was holding.

"We need a doctor! JARVIS, where's the doctor?"

She was on her feet in an instant, hauling ass out in to the hall. There were three men, two holding up the one in the middle, making their way as fast as they could towards her and the medical lab at the end of the hall. For a second, Darcy stared stupidly at them, her eyes fastened on the man in the middle. His head hung between his shoulders, blood evident even on the black leather of his armour, but it was the silver metal of his one arm, slung across the shoulders of one of the others, that really caught her attention.

"Medical is being prepped for your arrival, Captain," came the smooth reply of JARVIS' voice. It snapped her out of her daze.

Turning on her heel, Darcy ran the short distance down the hall and shoved the medical lab door open, holding it for them. They shuffled through awkwardly, the dark haired man hanging limply between the two of them, as a handful of doctors in scrubs rushed up to them with a stretcher. The two hauled the injured man on to it and Darcy gasped to see that he was not unconscious, just incapable of holding himself up. His head lolled to the side, facing her, but it was clear that he didn't see her.

The doctors rushed him away, leaving the two men standing there, their hands suddenly empty. Both of them were filthy, and looked like they could use a little medical attention themselves, but no other doctors seemed to be forthcoming. The blond suddenly seemed to deflate, and he staggered, holding one hand out to brace himself against the wall.

"You okay, man?" the other asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just…" Instead of answering, he put his back to the wall and slid down until his ass hit the floor.

The other man walked up to him and copied the motion, sliding down until they were sitting side by side. He clapped his friend on the arm. "He's gonna be all right. Stark employs the best."

The blond nodded, but didn't say anything. Darcy knew that the reassurance was probably less than helpful, even if it was true. Unnoticed, she turned and slipped out, heading back for Jane's lab.

Her work, the motherboard for Jane's new spectrometer, lay abandoned on the table as she headed for her snack drawer. Darcy kept a variety of things in the lab—not just Pop Tarts—because it was incredibly difficult to get Jane to leave for a meal when she was on to something and there simply wasn't enough nutritional content in Pop Tarts to sustain anyone for long. She grabbed a box of the strawberry flavoured ones, along with several granola bars, and stuffed them into the pouch of her hoodie. Underneath one of the spare desks was a case of bottled water, and she snagged a couple of those as well before making her way back to medical.

They were sat exactly where she left them, only this time they looked up at her as she entered.

"Um, are you hungry?" she asked, holding up the box of Pop Tarts and the two bottles of water.

"Pop Tarts?" the second man grinned. He and his friend were in a neck n' neck race for who was the filthiest. Or the hottest. At least they were on equal footing, Darcy thought. "I haven't had those in years."

"They're pretty much the only thing I can shove into my bosses mouth when she's on a science bender." She reached into her pouch and pulled out the granola. "But there's also these if you crave a little, you know, actual sustenance."

The dark skinned man smiled, albeit tiredly, but blondie simply stared at her as if he didn't understand what was happening. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, his clothes ripped and stained with more blood and god knew what else. Clearly, they had just come from a fight.

It was an aspect of living in the Avengers Tower that Darcy had yet to experience.

"I'm Sam Wilson," handsome and chatty said, holding out his hand. "I'd get up to greet you properly, but I'm honestly not sure if I can."

She gave him a smile, but instead of reaching forward to shake his hand, she stuffed the box of Pop Tarts into his grip. "I'm Darcy Lewis."

"This is Steve," Sam added, nodding his head towards the other man.

At the sound of his name, handsome but silent blinked and seemed to come to himself. "My apologies," he said, his voice raspy. "Steve Rogers." He held out his hand.

Again, Darcy avoided the handshake, this time with a bottle of water. Luckily, neither of them seemed too alert and didn't notice. "There's more in the lab if you want," she said, passing Sam the other one. "Here, take the granolas, too. I've got a massive box stashed away in my drawer."

"Thanks," Sam said, taking them from her and tossing two into Steve's lap. "Eat, man. He's going to be in there for a while."

Steve did as he was told, fumbling with the wrapper.

"I'll be in the lab across the way," Darcy said, jerking her thumb in the direction of Jane's domain, "so, uh, just let me know if you need anything, okay?"

Sam gave her a small smile and a nod. "Thanks, Darcy. We appreciate it."

Steve looked up and gave her the world's most forced smile, practically baring his teeth at her. "Yes, thank you," he said quietly.

"No problem," Darcy replied with a small shrug. "I hope your friend is okay."

She slipped quietly out of the medical lab once more, but when she sat down at her table and picked up the soldering gun, she only managed to stare at the half-wired motherboard.

Logically, she had known that living in the Avengers Tower, the same tower that the Avengers often lived and worked in, meant that she'd see people come in injured, maybe even dead.

But knowing and seeing are two very different things.

Darcy should have known better than to wear sleeveless tops in the lab, or anywhere for that matter. It was practically asking for an accident, but even so, she was still surprised when the bare hand clapped down on her shoulder, startling her out of her zone.

The rush of emotions and scattered thought charged straight through her mind, making her wrench herself away from the touch instinctively. Nearly falling off of her stool in the effort, she turned and pulled the ear buds out of her ears to find Clint Barton dressed in civvies and holding his hands up in the universal gesture of peace.

"Hey there, Lewis. You're a little jumpy. You all right?"

Darcy tried to focus on the words coming out of his mouth instead of the lingering taste of his emotions in the back of her mind. He was content today, calm and full of good humour, which was a good thing for both of them. Negative emotions were harder to dispel.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You…you just startled me, is all," Darcy managed.

"You sure?" Barton asked, eyes scrutinizing her, trying to piece together the puzzle before him.

They weren't particularly close, her and Clint, but she knew better than to underestimate his intellect. The man's job was to notice the details and the nuances. If she had to put a label on their interactions, she'd call it an acquaintanceship with the possibility of friendship. She wasn't particularly close with any of the Avengers—or at least the ones she'd met—mostly because she and Jane had only been living in the lap of luxury for a few months and the Avengers were usually scattered unless there was an alien sea slug that needed killing.

"I'm sure," she said, sliding back into her seat. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Barton snorted and pulled a stool over from one of the other desks so he could sit across from her, various pieces of a spectrometer spread out on the table between them. "You mean 'cause of S.H.E.I.L.D?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of all your dirty laundry being aired, actually."

"Yes, well, that's a bit inconvenient, but not the end of the world."

"I suppose not," Darcy agreed. Her skills in hacking were pretty limited, but she knew people from college who could create an entirely new country with a laptop and an internet connection so, really, she shouldn't be surprised that the spy sitting across from her was unconcerned. "Hey, DUM-E!" she called out. "Come here, buddy."

The familiar whir of the robot came from behind as DUM-E rolled over to her and promptly stuck his claw in her lap. She patted him gently, running her fingers over the dark metal. "I need you to hold something for me, okay?"

He made a little chirruping sound and straightened, opening his claw for her. Darcy placed the motherboard in his claw. "Hold it gently for me, bud, and follow me."

She led him over to the main body of the spectrometer, calling over her shoulder. "So what can I do you for, Barton? Or are you just here for Jane's charming personality?"

At the sound of her name, Jane's dishevelled head popped up, just barely visible over the edge of a computer screen. "What's that?" she asked.

"Noooothing," Darcy called back, shooting a grin at Clint, who shook his head at her, a small smile pulling at his lips. "When was the last time you ate, boss lady?"

"Uhh…earlier," Jane muttered, her attention already back on the screen.

"Barton, third drawer down. Throw something at her."

Turning her attention to DUM-E, Darcy dropped to the ground and scooted half under the spectrometer, instructing the robot on where to hold the motherboard so she could begin attaching the wires she'd soldered on before and then mount it. The best thing about her design? It stood on four legs, making it easier for her to crawl about underneath it. Forget whether the thing actually _worked_ or not. She could worry about that later—when Jane was having a meltdown, most likely.

"So I heard you saw the Captain bring in the Winter Soldier."

"I knew you'd get to it eventu—wait, what?"

Darcy did the awkward crab out from under the spectrometer and stared at Barton. "Captain? As in Captain America?"

"You didn't know?" he asked incredulously.

"He said his name is Steve Rogers!"

He looked at her like she was patently stupid. "Did you sleep through high school history class, Lewis?"

Darcy tipped her head to one side. "I might have skipped most of it and cheated on the final?"

Barton barked out a sharp, short laugh. "How'd you pull that one off?"

"Wrote the answers on my thigh and wore a skirt," she said, smirking. "My teacher was a dude. What's he going to do? Tell me to lift my skirt? Nuh-uh."

That brought out a true and proper laugh from him, making him shake his head as he crouched down to her level.

"I think you're the only person in America who doesn't know who he is."

"Hey," she protested. "I know who Captain America is. Well, I know the important bits. You know, World War II, Hydra, all that fun stuff, but c'mon! Steve Rogers is a pretty common name, Barton."

"Not in this building it ain't."

Darcy sighed and lay back down, wiggling under the machine again. "I'm not having this discussion with you," she told him resolutely.

He laughed again and poked her knee. "I thought you'd want to know that his friend, Barnes, pulled through surgery."

That gave her pause, and she smiled to herself. "Good. I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah, I'm also supposed to tell you that Captain America would like to see you at your earliest convenience."

"_What?"_ Normally, Darcy liked to think of herself as fairly calm, relatively level headed, and definitely open minded, but the knowledge that she'd met _Captain America_ and apparently missed the memo had her a little more flustered than usual. Instead of thinking, she reacted, sitting straight up and promptly banging her face off the underbelly of Jane's beast. "Ow. Shit. Fuck!"

DUM-E made a concerned chirruping sound while Barton laughed at her. Again. She felt a hand on her leg, over her jeans thank god, and then she was being hauled out from under the spectrometer, her dignity left somewhere behind.

"I can do that part myself, you know," she said sharply, one hand going up to her forehead where she'd walloped herself.

"Can you? I'm not so sure," Barton said, offering his hand to haul her the rest of the way up.

Darcy glanced at his hand for a second before steeling herself mentally. She threw up the walls in her mind, blocking out the inevitable surge of his mind into hers the moment their skin made contact. His hand clasped around hers, warm and firm, and he pulled her up easily. She pushed against the intrusion in her mind, forcing herself not to focus on the few thoughts and emotions that slipped through the cracks in her walls.

"Thanks," Darcy said, dropping his hand the moment she was on her feet.

"I don't have cooties, you know," he said, arching an eyebrow at her.

She flushed bright red. "I, uh. I know that," she stammered, turning on her heel to face DUM-E. "Hey bud. We're gonna have to put that down for a bit. I have to go talk to Captain America."

DUM-E released the motherboard as Darcy disconnected the few wires she'd managed to get done and brought it back to her desk. Barton was a detriment to her work ethic, but she saw that Jane had an empty silver packet on her desk, indicating that he had indeed given the boss lady something to eat so there was that, at least.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

He pointed up. "Medical."

She frowned, following him as he led the way out of the lab anyway. "But medical is down the hall?"

"That's the emergency. Surgeries and such. Recovery rooms are upstairs one level. Stark has a mini-hospital in this joint, though I don't know why that surprises me anymore."

"Oh."

The elevator took them up the one floor without prompting, affirming Darcy's belief that JARVIS listened in on everything, which only meant that she couldn't afford to slip up again like she had with Barton earlier. He'd surprised her; it was her own fault for getting lost in her work and the music pumping into her ears. Normal people slapped each other on the back, the nudged each other with their arms, and generally engaged in skin to skin contact all the time. Darcy knew this, but she'd become complacent in the belief that the only people who really came to the lab were her and Jane—and Jane certainly wasn't the touchy feely type. A small mercy.

The elevator doors opened to small lobby surrounded by glass walls and manned by a receptionist's desk. She looked up as they arrived, but upon seeing Barton, merely nodded and pressed a button that presumably unlocked the doors behind her. Together, they walked through and into exactly what Barton had said: a mini-hospital, only shinier than any she'd ever seen.

"Cap."

Darcy hadn't even noticed the man down the hall, standing with their back to them, until Barton's call made him turn around. It was the same Steve Rogers she'd met only four days prior, but he looked a world better. Gone were the shadows under his eyes, and the lanky look to his hair. The cuts on his face had healed, and the strain that had been in his eyes was all but non-existent. When he looked at her, he was actually able to focus on her.

"Miss Lewis," he said, striding forward, his hand outstretched. "I wanted to thank you, for before, and apologise. Sam says my manners left much to be desired."

Once again Darcy steeled herself for the touch. Captain America's grip was firm and warm, dwarfing her hand for maximum skin contact. His emotions buffered against her mental shields and she could taste his anxiety mixed up with relief and sorrow in the back of her mind. His face, however, revealed none of that.

"Oh, it's, uh, it's all right," Darcy stammered, releasing his hand quickly. "I, um, understand." She blinked a few times, trying to cast away the remnants of his touch. "How, uh, how is he?"

Steve turned towards a large window set in the wall. Darcy followed his gaze and found a rather ornate hospital room painted in soft pastels. Its sole occupant was the man they'd brought in; the one Barton had called the Winter Soldier.

He lay on the bed as if he were dead. Were it not for the machine next to him monitoring his heartbeat, Darcy might have feared that he'd kicked it while no one was looking. The sheets had been brought up to his chest and tucked under his arms, his hands laying flat against the bed with not a wrinkle to be seen. Her eyes came to a stuttering halt on the gleaming silver of his left arm; the engineer in her wanted to examine it. Was there an arm underneath it, or was it a true prosthetic? Did it work like Stark's Iron Man suits, or was it attached to external, manufactured neurotransmitters?

"He hasn't regained consciousness yet, but they tell me that he should," Steve said. His voice sounded awfully neutral for someone who had a well of emotions swirling around inside him. Darcy knew, even without having touched him, that this Winter Soldier man was important to him; it had been written all over his face when they brought him in, had been broadcasted in the panicked edge to his voice as he shouted for a doctor. Why, then, was he acting now as if the man inside the room were nothing more than an acquaintance?

"Um, excuse me, Agent Barton?"

They all turned around to see the receptionist standing there, a puzzled expression on her face. "Uh, there's a robot at my desk…I think…I think it wants your attention?" She spoke as if she couldn't quite believe those words were coming out of her mouth. As one, Darcy and Barton turned to where the front doors were located and sure enough, there was DUM-E, visible through the glass walls. Beside her, Clint chuckled.

"Oh, no, DUM-E," Darcy groaned.

"Isn't that the robot that Stark threatens to take apart all the time?" Steve asked, coming to stand beside them.

"Yep," Clint said, drawing out the word. He looked to the receptionist, muscular arms crossed over his chest. "It ain't me he wants. This here's his lady love."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "I better go to him before he breaks the glass or something." She turned to Steve. "I'm glad your friend is doing better, Captain."

"Thank you, Miss Lewis. And thank you again for the other night," he said, all sincerity. It struck her as a little odd that he would ask her to come up to the medical ward just so he could thank her for giving him some junk food and water, but she wasn't about to hazard a guess about superheroes and their quirks.

"It really wasn't a problem," she told him. Behind her came the chirruping sound that DUM-E used to communicate, quickly followed by a few hard raps on the glass. "I better go!"

She turned and booked it for the front doors, DUM-E's one eye on her the entire time. When she stepped out into the lobby he rolled right up to her, pressing his claw and most of his burnished steel body against her side.

"You're such a trouble maker," she told him fondly. "I can't leave you alone for ten minutes, can I?"

He chirruped at her again, his claw reaching out to gently take her hand. Darcy sighed and rolled her eyes. "Smooth talk will get you nowhere, mister. C'mon. We've got work to finish."

"Foster! Foster, dammit, where are you?"

Darcy recognised the sound of Tony Stark's voice and slid out from underneath the spectrometer. She'd finally gotten the motherboard hardwired into it, but every time she tried to turn it on the damn thing overheated and she'd spent the past two hours trying to figure out where she'd fucked up.

"She's not here, surprisingly," Darcy called. "I'm pretty sure she's comatose in her apartment. At least, she better be if she knows what's good for her." Darcy paused. "Which she doesn't, so you might find her awake up there."

"Lewis?" Stark approached, staring down at her while she sat up, dusting herself off. Thankfully, he didn't offer a hand to help her to her feet, but that was mostly because he was Tony Stark and generally oblivious about things that don't revolve around him.. "What are you doing tinkering with the toys? I thought you were a coffee and paperwork kind of gopher."

"Geez, thanks Stark," she said, rolling her eyes as she got up. "And don't let Jane hear you calling her equipment toys, she may throw something at your head."

Stark snorted. "Foster? I can totally take her. She's what, 100lbs soaking wet? And you haven't answered my question. Since when do you work on the toys?"

"Since, I dunno, always," Darcy retorted, heading for her work bench and the schematics on the spectrometer. "Why do you think Jane hired me in the first place?"

"'Cause you've got a great rack?" Stark mused, following her.

"How many sexual harassment lawsuits have you had filed against you?"

"Are we talking this year, or my entire lifetime? Because I'm not so good with keeping track. You'd have to ask Pep."

Darcy rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. Stark's nonchalance didn't bother her as much as it did Jane, and she certainly didn't mind him being the asshole that he was as long as he was directing it somewhere other than her. He expressed himself with snark and sass, which was something she could relate to.

"Seriously, though. You work on that?" he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Darcy spotted the schematics and plopped her ass down on a stool to go over them. "I make that, actually," she told him, half of her attention on the paper before her. "That's why Jane hired me. Culver wouldn't give her the funding to get real equipment, I told her I'd make her equipment if she signed off on my science credits." She looked up at him with a shrug. "It was either that or try to pass Organic Chemistry, which not even the actual science nerds do with any consistent success."

"Orgo?" Stark echoed, surprised. "Why the hell would they make a political science major take organic chem?"

Darcy wrinkled her nose. "It was my own fault. I waited too late to register for a science course and I had to have one in order to get my degree. Organic Chemistry was the only one that still had space. It was that or crazy Dr. Foster's internship. You see my dilemma."

Stark, looking suitably impressed, leaned over and snatched the paper out of her hands. "Oi! Just because you own the building doesn't mean you can do anything you want," she snapped at him, reaching for the paper.

"Technically it does," he said. "Hey, why do you have the power source routing through here?" He turned the page to her, pointing a finger at a few nearly illegible scribbles.

"I don't." Darcy frowned at it, taking the paper back from Stark. "This isn't what I…" She broke off with a sigh. "_Jane_."

"What did Foster do?" Stark asked as Darcy stood up and stomped her way over to the spectrometer.

"She tried to do something other than science," Darcy grumbled uncharitably, throwing herself to the floor and crawling under the machine. "DUM-E! I need light!"

"DUM-E? Seriously? This is where you've been?" Stark sounded incredulous. "Lewis, you stole my goddamn robot!"

"I didn't steal him," she argued as the robot in question appeared on the other side of the machine, closest to her head. His claw held a flashlight, which he conveniently angled for her underneath the spectrometer. "He just likes me better than you."

"I made him!"

"And look at how well that worked out for you."

"You and Foster are both a headache!" Stark groused. Darcy could hear the sound of his feet pacing just beyond her limited line of sight. "She goes and orders this insanely expensive motor, which I could have made for her by the way, and doesn't even ask me first! I mean, I know she has a budget and all, but this is still my money! And you! You steal my robot!"

"Actually, I ordered that insanely expensive motor," Darcy told him, yanking on the wires hanging above her head. "Mostly because we have a massive budget and I didn't want to spend two weeks making it."

"God dammit, Lewis! I ought to lock you up with 'crazy eyes' upstairs!" Stark shouted. "There's a protocol for a reason. Wait, how did you even place the order without my permission?"

Darcy wiggled a little bit until the top of her head poked out from under the spectrometer so she could see Stark. "Who is 'crazy eyes'?"

"That's besides the point." He glared at her. "Did JARVIS let you place this order?"

"Yep. Who is 'crazy eyes'?"

Stark looked genuinely upset, though Darcy didn't really know why. Technically, she hadn't broken any of the rules. They had a budget, the price of the motor was within the budget, and Jane—the trustee of said budget—had approved it. Tony Stark was apparently very attached to his money.

"JARVIS!" Stark shouted. "Explain yourself!"

"Dr. Foster approved of the order, sir, and her access has not been restricted in this manner. There was no need to inform you," JARVIS replied.

"But I could have _made_ it," Stark insisted, more than a little bit of a whine in his voice.

"So cancel the order and make it yourself," Darcy snapped. "Geez, why is this such a big deal? It's not like you don't have oodles of money, Stark."

"This has nothing to do with the money, Lewis," he replied instantly. "I could have done a far superior job on that motor is all."

"Sir has been bored, as of late, Miss Lewis," JARVIS chimed in. "I believe he would welcome a task, even one with so little challenge."

Darcy looked to Stark who curled his lip in disdain but didn't deny the claim. "Seriously? You're chewing me out because you're bored?"

"This is not me chewing you out, Lewis, trust me." He sat down next to DUM-E before swivelling on his butt so that he could lie back on the floor, his head next to hers. "So what are we doing?"

Darcy wiggled back under the spectrometer. "_I'm_ trying to undo the damage Jane has done."

"Wow. She did make a mess of this. I'm surprised it even turns on," he murmured. "DUM-E! Hand me that light!"

Darcy grimaced to herself as Stark's hands joined in with hers, unplugging wires and putting them back where they belonged. She made a valiant effort at not touching his bare skin, but with him in a sleeveless shirt and both of them working within a confined space, it was inevitable that they brushed against each other. It was fortunate that Stark was so absorbed with fixing Jane's fuck-up that his mind was focused on the task at hand, his emotions calm and unobtrusive, though he did mutter occasionally to himself.

"That ought to do it," Stark grunted some time later, pushing himself out from under the machine. "Flip the switch, Lewis."

Darcy scooted out and got to her knees, powering up the machine. She sighed happily when it began to hum with life, all of its lights blinking in the right places, and nothing overheating.

"Thanks, Stark."

"Yeah, don't get used to it," he said, wiping his hands on his pants. They looked like they were the expensive other half to a suit at one point, but they were now covered in fine layer of dust and dirt from the floor. "I don't descend from on high to mingle with the commoners very often."

"Duly noted, Scar," Darcy said dryly.

"I believe the name you're looking for is Mufasa," Stark corrected. "Or just King would suffice, really. I'm not picky."

Darcy snorted derisively and began picking up the tools she'd left discarded around the base of the spectrometer.

"Hey, don't get lippy with me lab monkey. I can still have you locked up with 'crazy eyes'." He grinned at her. "Actually, considering that you ordered that monstrosity of a motor instead of making it, when you obviously can, I think you should do a 48 hour psych hold. Just in case."

"Who the hell is crazy eyes, Stark!?"

"You don't know?" he asked, twiddling his fingers towards the ceiling. "Capsicle's geriatric friend. You know. 'Crazy eyes'."

Darcy frowned at him. "He's awake?"

Stark made a face, tipping his head from side to side. "If that's what you want to call it, sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, turning fluidly on one heel, and headed for the door. "He hasn't said a word. Seems pretty DOA if you ask me," he said, tapping his temple. "Oh, and Lewis." He spun again, pointing a finger at her. "Don't order any more stupid motors, got it?"

Darcy waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Got it."

"You better!" he called over his shoulder, leaving the lab and Darcy behind.

There could only be one person Stark was referring to, though she didn't really understand why Stark would call him Steve's geriatric friend. Or why Barton had called him the Winter Soldier.

Darcy bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. There was plenty of work to be done, and she probably ought keep her nose out from where it didn't belong. It was most likely superhero business, something that was decidedly not _her_ business. Then again, with the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D and the Black Widow's spectacular info dump, most things were public knowledge these days.

It took her less than a minute to make a decision. A handful of quick steps took her to computer desk and before she could think about it too hard, she was looking up everything she could find on the Winter Soldier.

She stayed there, one hand on the mouse, for so long that her eyes began to burn and her back ached from being held in one position. By the time she was done, her stomach tingled with nerves at the thought of being so close to that man, even when he was mostly unconscious. The footage of Steve fighting him, their vicious hand-to-hand combat in the middle of the street, looped constantly in her mind. The list of his credited kills, the sheer length of that list, not to mention how far back it went chronologically, boggled her mind and left a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

That man was sitting in a room on the floor above her.

Darcy looked up at the ceiling hesitantly.

What was that metal arm capable of? Were they safe, any of them? She hadn't spent a lot of time outside of his hospital room but unless that glass window was made of the same shit they put on space ships she wasn't sure they weren't all living on borrowed time.

Then again, Stark had called him 'crazy eyes' and indicated that he wasn't all there. Darcy snorted at the thought. Just what they needed in the building; an unstable assassin, because that was so much better than a rational one.

Darcy brought a hand up to rub at her face, massaging her tired, dry eyes. A glance at the clock told her it was past midnight and she really ought to get the hell out of there. Jane would no doubt be down soon enough—because that woman's sleep schedule was fucked _right_ up—and if Darcy were still around she'd be suckered into helping with something or the other.

Pulling a drawer open, Darcy grabbed a violently bright post-it pad and scribbled a note:

_Jane,_

_No more touchy-touchy of the machinery. I had to fix your 'improvement'. Next time you might blow the place sky high, and that would suck. You do SCIENCE! I do ENGINEERING! Kay? Kay._

_Love,_

_D_

She slapped it on the front of the spectrometer. It stuck out like a beautiful neon orange thumb on the silver of the machine and Darcy felt confident that Jane would see it immediately.

"JARVIS? Can you kill the lights?" she asked, grabbing her bag from her desk and slinging the strap over her shoulder.

"Of course, Miss Lewis."

"Thanks, J."

The lab darkened as soon as she stepped out, and Darcy closed the door behind her, making sure that it locked. When she reached the elevator she barely had to wait before it was opening for her.

"To your quarters, Miss Lewis?"

The word 'Yes' was halfway out of her mouth before Darcy paused, a thought occurring to her.

"Oh, that's a bad, bad idea," she muttered to herself.

She bit down on her lip again, a terrible habit she had when she was nervous or upset, or in this case: indecisive. She often walked around with one lip redder than the other because of it.

"JARVIS…Take me up to medical."

There was a pause, barely the span of a heartbeat, but then the doors slid shut soundlessly and JARVIS intoned, "As you wish, Miss Lewis."

She didn't have much time to reconsider her decision. One floor took less than thirty seconds with Stark elevators and before she'd really thought much about it, the doors were sliding open to the sleek lobby with the glass walls.

Unlike the other day, there was no receptionist at the desk, and when Darcy walked over to the door and pulled, it didn't budge. She was about to open her mouth and ask JARVIS if he would let her in when she remembered the receptionist pushing a button on her desk. It didn't take her long to find it.

The halls were quiet and dimly lit, and Darcy wondered if there was a nurse on duty that she would have to explain herself to. There had to be some sort of staff since there was at least one patient on the floor, but they were nowhere to be seen. Darcy counted her blessings as she retraced her earlier steps to the room that had housed the Winter Soldier the last time she was there.

At first, she thought he must have been moved. His room was dimly lit, just a small light above the nightstand giving off any light. The heart monitor had been removed, and the bed had definitely been used, but of the Soldier there was no sign. With a sigh, Darcy pressed one hand against the glass, leaning into it. She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Part of her had definitely wanted to—

Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she pressed the side of her face to the glass, looking down.

There. She could see the top of a dark head, moving ever so slightly. Stark's words, and the way he'd tapped his temple, suddenly made perfect sense. The Winter Soldier that she'd read about would have definitely noticed her, probably the moment she hit the button at the receptionist's desk, but this man didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings at all.

She glanced at the door to her right.

"Curiosity killed the cat," she muttered before blowing out her breath in a sharp gust. "JARVIS? Am I allowed in that room?"

"I'm afraid not, Miss Lewis. Access is restricted to medical officials only."

She looked back at the top of that head, debating the words that danced on the tip of her tongue. It would change things for her, drastically. It could see her out on her ass, but that was really a worst-case scenario. Darcy had a hard time believing that the Avengers would be anti-mutant considering that they were pretty much one fat lady shy of being a circus act themselves. Still, the instinct to protect herself ran deep, and she'd never forgotten the repercussions of ignoring her mama's advice.

Closing her eyes, Darcy turned away from the window, determined to walk away, but her feet wouldn't move.

"Shit," she sighed. Turning back, she reached for the door handle, holding the cool metal in her hand. "JARVIS, I need you to let me in there."

"Miss, only medical off—"

"I can help him," she interrupted. "Or at least I think I can help him. Does that count as being a medical official?"

"I'm afraid it does not, Miss Lewis."

Darcy fought the instinct to stomp her foot like a child. "J, I can help him. Please." She looked up, turning her head this way and that until she found a camera high up near the ceiling. She looked directly at it. "I don't want to cause trouble J, I promise. I just want to help him, and I think I can."

For the longest time, JARVIS didn't reply, and Darcy felt incredibly stupid standing there, waiting for an invisible AI to respond to her. She was determined, however, to wait him out, and before she lost her nerve, she heard the distinctive click of a lock opening. She tried the handle, and it turned smoothly in her palm.

"Thank you, J," she breathed, letting herself into the room.

In retrospect, Darcy knew it was a stupid ass decision. The Winter Soldier was a deadly assassin, probably the most lethal person she'd ever been in the same room with, and he was decidedly unbalanced. She could have died in that instant, but fate, or perhaps it was luck, was on her side that night.

The man in the corner didn't even look up at her entrance. His hooded gaze was fixed on the floor in front of him, his arms locked around his knees, his body rocking to a rhythm found only in his mind. She felt a sharp stab of pity for this man that she'd read about. If the information she'd found was true—and she had no reason to doubt it—then he'd been tortured in the worst sort of way.

Slowly, very slowly, Darcy approached him, though her caution was ultimately unnecessary. He was trapped inside his head, that much quickly became obvious.

"Buck—" He flinched violently. It was the first sign that he was even remotely aware of anything around him. Darcy paused, unsure of how to continue.

There were rules to the kind of things that Darcy could do, she knew that. Her mama had drilled it into head as a child. A person's thoughts were their most private possession, and people like Darcy should never invade a mind. It was the most horrendous violation of privacy.

But the only way she could think of to help the man before her was to do just that. He couldn't give her permission, and even if he could, she wasn't sure it would really count.

"I—I…I'm Darcy," she whispered, slowly lowering herself to her butt in front of him. Her bag slipped off of her shoulder unnoticed, and she scooted a little bit closer to him. "Can you hear me? Bucky?"

He flinched again, but not until she had called him by his childhood nickname. Darcy took note of it, but considered it a positive sign. He was listening, though he didn't seem to be capable of responding.

"I…I don't know if you can hear me but…I'd like to help you, if I can," she told him, her voice soft. "I'm a bit…different. I have a…" She trailed off. Her mama had called it her 'gift' but Darcy had never seen it that way. "I guess you could call it a skill or a quirk, if you're being generous."

She gnawed on her bottom lip again, studying him. He didn't acknowledge a word she'd said, but his rocking had slowed a bit. His eyes were still focused on the same spot, even though it was now covered by her legs.

Sucking in a breath, her stomach swooping with nerves, she whispered, "If I touch your skin, I'll be able to hear your thoughts." She paused, watching his face for any reaction. "That's my quirk. I'm a touch telepath, kind of like a Vulcan. Though I don't think you know what that means." His face remained blank, his eyes fixated on that one spot.

Slowly, she reached with one hand, her fingers stretched out and shaking. Her body was a jumbled mess of nerves and fear. The one other time she'd done this, it hadn't been nearly as nerve wracking. Then again, that had been a fellow college student, not the intelligence world's most feared assassin. Darcy's fingers were only a few centimeters away from his skin when she forced herself to take a deep breath and push away her own emotions. It wouldn't do to push _her_ thoughts and feelings on to _him_.

"Please don't kill me," she whispered.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she closed the gap between them, her fingers making contact with the warm skin of his human hand.

The darkness rushed up at her, sudden and swift. It surrounded her entire, enveloping her before she could even draw breath.

And then there was only the screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

The darkness felt like hands, strong as steel, pulling her deeper and deeper into his consciousness—or the lack thereof. She couldn't tell if the screaming was hers, or his, but it reverberated through her. There was no sense of self inside of him, no coherent thoughts, not even images. It was only overwhelming emotion.

Her mind reared back from his, trying to put some distance between them, but his hold on her was absolute. His terror and pain became hers, washing over her in waves; she could taste the iron tang of blood on her tongue, and the deep, penetrating cold in her bones. It crept over her until she couldn't feel her own body any more, couldn't hear the pounding of her own heart, or feel the rise and fall of her lungs.

_Please. Please don't. Please, I—_

All of a sudden the darkness was gone, torn away from her mind. Reality came rushing in; bringing back the sensations of her body that had been cut off. Bright light made her blink, and her arms flailed as she was unceremoniously wrenched up and backwards by a thick arm wrapped around her torso.

"Darcy! Darcy!"

Tony Stark was in her face, his hands on her cheeks, and his eyes concerned. His panic shot straight through her and Darcy wrenched herself away with a cry, shoving at his chest and pushing herself back against the person who held her.

Her heart pounded erratically, and her chest heaved as if she'd just run a marathon. Stark stepped back, hands up in a peaceful gesture, but his eyes were narrowed on her. Darcy's gaze darted around, taking in her surroundings as her memory finally jogged and supplied her with the information she needed.

The Winter Soldier. His room. She was in his room because she'd touched him and…

Her eyes shot to his crumpled form. He lay on the floor, curled up in the foetal position, his eyes screwed up shut and his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. The sight of him, combined with the overwhelming rush of both of their emotions, turned out to be the straw that broke her back. Without warning, Darcy became a sobbing mess. Her knees gave out and it was only the arm around her waist that kept her from face planting straight into the linoleum floor. Great, heaving sounds ripped out of her as she was slowly lowered to the ground. She crouched on all fours, shaking and trying not to vomit.

"Darcy, what the hell happened?" Stark asked, crouching down in front of her. He, thankfully, did not touch her again.

The arm around her waist slipped away, to be replaced by a hand on her back. The touch was too close to the bare skin of her arm and she flinched away from it violently.

"Don't touch me!" she gasped, skittering away on hands and knees. Through her tears she could see the face of a very confused and concerned Captain America, but she couldn't summon the words to reassure anyone. She felt…She couldn't even put it into words. It was if every positive thought or emotion had been scooped out of her, leaving behind only the terror and the memory of pain so great she had no name for it. Unconsciously, she mirrored the Soldier's pose, wrapping her arms around her chest as if they were the only things that could hold her bits and pieces together.

"Miss Lewis? What happened here?"

"I…I…" Her teeth chattered, both in fright and in memory of the cold. _The cold_. It was to be feared at all costs. It seeped into her body, through skin and muscle, right into her bones so that she'd never feel warm ever again.

Suddenly, her stomach rebelled and she lurched forward, catching herself on her hands as her body tried to eject food that wasn't there. She hadn't had much of a dinner to begin with, and what she had consumed had been hours before. There was nothing in her gut to throw up except stomach acid. Still, her muscles clenched and shook, forcing bile up her throat and out her mouth, leaving behind a foul burn. When it was done, she was a complete and utter mess. Her eyes streamed with tears, her nose ran and her hair clung to her sweaty face and neck, streaked with her own fluids.

She sat back shakily. Stark was exactly where she'd left him, but Steve had moved to crouch next to his friend, his hands hovering over him anxiously but not quite touching.

He turned to her. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice abruptly hard.

Darcy couldn't say anything. The words simply wouldn't come. She shook her head and looked away. She couldn't tell him how she'd felt the madness within his friend, felt it cling to her mind until she couldn't tell the difference between him and her. It would mean explaining what she'd done, and what she was.

"JARVIS?" Stark spoke without looking away from her. Darcy cringed into herself, knowing what was about to happen. "Want to fill us in?"

"Sir, I must apologise. I bear partial responsibility for this unfortunate outcome. I allowed Miss Lewis entrance to Sergeant Barnes' room on the assurance that she only sought to help him which, I believe, she was attempting to do."

Both men looked at her. Stark's eyebrows went up, while Steve simply stared angrily.

"Shortly after touching Sergeant Barnes, Miss Lewis began displaying signs of discomfort. However, it was not until her respiration and heart rate began to increase drastically that I sought to intervene. When I could not engage her attention vocally, I alerted you and the Captain to the situation, sir."

"And just how were you going to help him?" Stark asked her. "I know you're clever, but last time I checked you weren't a doctor."

Darcy looked away from the intensity of his gaze, shaking her head. She'd already said the words once in that room, she couldn't make herself do it again. JARVIS knew, there was no way that he didn't. Nothing in the Tower was private from him.

Suddenly, Steve stood up and crossed the room. He reached down and yanked her up by the arms, his hands closing tightly around her bare upper arms.

"What did you do to him?" he bellowed, shaking her a little. "Tell me, now!"

In all the pictures and movie reels about Captain America, none of them had ever caught him in a fit of rage. He held her off the floor, his face flushed with his anger, and his eyes colder than ice. She was so distraught, her mind disorganized, that she had absolutely no defence against the skin contact. Thoughts, emotions, and images that weren't her own rushed through her mind.

She saw an image of Tony Stark in his workshop, covered in grease and sitting on the floor with pieces of a machine spread around him.

_"She's Foster's assistant. Builds all her toys. Why?"_

_"She was there when we brought Bucky in. I didn't recognise her."_

_"Yeah, they're a new addition. You were off playing Good Cop in D.C when they moved in."_

It disappeared quickly, replaced by her sitting the lab, hunched over a StarkPad with a half eaten Pop Tart in one hand. She could feel the curiosity that accompanied the memory: he'd wanted to stop to speak to her, but he hadn't had the time then.

Darcy kicked out at him, trying to wrench herself away from his grip. His thoughts and feelings were overpowering her, swirling around her in fragments, over riding her own mind.

"Let go!" she screamed. "_Please!"_

"_Tell me!"_ he screamed back.

"You're hurting me!" Darcy sobbed.

And he was, though he had no idea. Her head throbbed and ached, feeling as if it might explode at any moment. She felt her feet touch the ground again, but he didn't release her arms. She stared at him dazedly, fixing on the hard line of his mouth. His voice screamed at her, demanding answers, but his lips had stopped moving. She couldn't hear anything from the room anymore, just his voice and the frantic beating of her heart. Heat suffused her body, starting in her chest and rushing outwards over her limbs as if she'd been dipped in hot water. The world seemed to tilt abruptly before Steve's face suddenly looked like it was at the other end of the room, his arms and torso weirdly distorted. A high pitched ringing sound began, like the hum of a tuning fork when struck, but Darcy welcomed it as it drowned out the sound of the screaming.

Her body swayed to the side, and then everything went black.

The steady _beep, beep, beep_ is what woke her initially, but it was the throbbing in her head that kept her awake. Slowly, she peeled her eyes open and blinked confusedly at her surroundings. Lavender walls, calming scenic paintings, and the gentle glow of early dawn greeted her. It took her a few moments to make the connection to her memories of the Tower's hospital floor, but when she did everything else clicked. She sucked in a shaky breath as her brain powered up and memory rushed in.

"You're awake."

Darcy turned her head to the right to see Jane sitting in a chair next to the bed, yellow legal notepad in her lap and a pen in her hand. Her hair was an absolute mess, tied back sloppily and looking tangled, her eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, but it was the hard set to her mouth that made Darcy's stomach plummet.

"Jane, I—"

Jane stood stiffly and turned for the door without a word. The heart monitor started beeping faster as Darcy watched her leave but she didn't have long to panic. She had barely hauled herself into a sitting position before the door was opening again. Darcy watched, her dread mounting as Steve, Clint, Tony Stark, Agent Romanov, Jane, and Sam all filed into her room, making it feel incredibly small. She was briefly glad that both Thor and Banner were away; Thor in Asgard and Banner helping out with the outbreak of Ebola in Africa since the serum that made him into the Hulk also made him immune to human diseases.

She watched nervously as they all found a bit of wall to prop themselves against, arrayed around her like a council about to pass judgement. The heart monitor went crazy.

"So we had a meeting while you were out," Stark said abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down his nose at her. "Apparently you deserve a chance to explain yourself." He made a face that clearly displayed his opinion on this. "I was over ruled."

Darcy looked at each of them and found most of them impassive and carefully blank, their eyes assessing her and every hitch of her breath. Only Jane and Stark showed any emotion.

"Well?" Stark snapped his fingers at her. "Let's get to it."

"Tony," Steve warned, glancing at the other man before back at Darcy.

"I…" Darcy felt as if her tongue was about to choke her and the heart monitor was going positively mental. She ripped it off of her finger. Perhaps if they didn't know exactly how fast her heart was racing maybe it would lessen her humiliation and her fear. "I'm…a mutant," she whispered.

It was the first time she'd said those words out loud in front of so many people. Stark snorted derisively and it made her flinch.

"Tell us something we _don't_ know," he said waspishly. "Like what you were doing to Barnes."

He gaze was hard and unforgiving, with none of that camaraderie she'd briefly experienced before; it hurt more than Darcy thought possible. When had she begun to seek this man's approval, or any of them for that matter? She hadn't realised she was so attached that their rebuff would sting so much.

"I was trying to help him," Darcy said, slightly defensive. Her eyes swept around the room to the others. "I'm a touch telepath."

"What makes you think you could help him?" Romanov asked, her voice calm and mild.

Darcy hadn't interacted with the Widow very much, the other woman wasn't nearly as chatty as her partner, but she had always been polite and kind, if a little distant. Darcy glanced at her, a little unnerved by the intensity of those blue eyes.

"I've done it before," she told them, licking her dry lips. "Once. A girl at college. She was…She'd been raped." Darcy shrugged. "I helped her sleep."

"How do you do that, exactly?" Steve asked. He, too, watched her with an unnerving intensity and she felt a little shiver of fear, remembering the strength of his hands, and of his anger. Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around herself again.

"When I touch someone, their mind opens to me," she said softly, looking down at the blanket that covered her legs. "I can hear their thoughts, feel their emotions, and see their memories. I experience everything that they're thinking and feeling. If I concentrate on it, I can influence those thoughts and feelings." She didn't dare look at any of them now and her fingers began plucking at the blanket. "It's easier when the person is sleeping, like Carolina. When she began to dream about that night, I'd push her mind in another direction, to something happier, so she'd sleep through the night."

"That was your aim with Bucky?"

Darcy nodded, still looking at her lap. "Stark had said that he hadn't talked to anyone. When I came up here, he was sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth. I thought that if…if I could get inside his head, I could help him."

"And what happened when you…got inside his head?"

There was something in Steve's tone that made her look up, a tinge of emotion that she couldn't identify. His face was no longer quite so blank as before, his expression not as hard. He was leaning forward and his eyes practically burned as her watched her.

"He…I don't really know how to explain it," she confessed. "It was like he grabbed at me and held on. I had no control, it was overwhelming." She paused and shrugged again. "I've never had that happen before."

"Did you…see anything?"

She shook her head. "There were no thoughts in his mind. Just emotion and the darkness."

"Darkness?" Steve echoed.

Darcy nodded. "Darkness. Terror. Cold."

Steve's face paled and one hand reached up to rub at his mouth. He turned away from her, walking to the other side of the room where a window let in the gradually rising sunlight.

"So you tried to get into the Winter Soldier's head and it backfired," Stark said. "My question is what have you been doing to the rest of us?"

Darcy's head snapped up and she stammered, "I haven't—I've _never_—"

"You expect me to trust you? You just admitted that you have the ability to control a person's mind. How are we to know that you haven't been getting in and fucking around?" He viciously jabbed at the side of his head, his expression murderous. "How do we know you're not some kind of Hydra spy?"

Someone snorted, loudly, and everyone turned to look at Clint standing beside the Widow with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He arched an eyebrow at Stark.

"Really? A spy? You must think we've gone soft," he remarked mildly. "Mutant she may be, but spy? I'll eat every last one of my arrows."

Beside him, Romanov tilted her head to the side. "I was raised and trained by the Red Room. She is no operative of theirs."

"Hydra isn't the only one out to get us," Stark reminded them. "She could be one of Magneto's merry band of psychopaths or any other number of groups!"

"I've asked you before, and I'll ask you again, how many times can you recall Darcy willingly touching you? Or anyone else?" He looked around at the others. "'Cause every time I've gone to touch her, she's either pulled away from me or visibly hesitated."

Steve turned around to look at her. "I've touched you. You shook my hand the other day."

Darcy nodded. "I try to block it out. Sometimes things slip through, mostly emotions." She gestured with one hand toward Steve. "I could feel your anxiety, your grief."

He didn't seem to know what to say to that, but his face didn't go hard again, which made her feel slightly better. He nodded once and opened his mouth to say something else but before he could, Jane cut him off.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" she demanded suddenly, tears in her eyes. "After everything we've gone through? Why didn't you trust me?"

Darcy had to look away, a painful lump in her throat. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I don't want your apologies! I want a goddamn answer!"

Jane rarely swore, rarely yelled, and never at Darcy. Before she could stop it, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "I couldn't risk it, Jane. I just…I couldn't."

She was met with a thick, painful silence. When Darcy looked up at Jane the diminutive woman was livid and _hurt_. "You couldn't risk it? You couldn't—"

"You should stop speaking now," the Widow interrupted. "Your emotions are compromising your logic."

Jane turned her fury on the Russian woman. "Stay out of this!" she yelled. "This is none of your business."

"It is my business. It is all of ours," Romanov replied calmly. "And you are speaking out of ignorance. You have no idea what it is like to be different."

Jane was so outraged that she lost the ability to speak for a moment. Her hand went to her chest, pressing against the old button up that she wore. "I—_I don't know_—How dare—"

Romanov raised a hand. "You have been ridiculed and ostracised by your community, which is dominated by old men. They are intimidated by your intelligence and your passion. It is unfortunate that this is the case, but those who admire you far outnumber your detractors. You do not know what it is like to be inherently _feared_ for what you are, for what you have no control over."

Beside her, Clint shifted, his eyes on her face. Everyone else went silent and still, all of them perfectly aware of what it was that she referred to, even Sam, who was new to the group. Jane knew just as well as the others that Natasha Romanov had been manipulated and brainwashed by Hydra, by the Red Room, but her anger chased away whatever sympathy she might have had for the other woman.

"You're not a mutant, you—"

"I was made into what I am now, something which I had no control over. She had no control over her birth, or her genetics," the Widow said sharply, gesturing with one hand to Darcy. "There are those who would kill her simply for existing." She shot Tony a glare. "Why do you think Magneto and his merry band of psychopaths exist? Because mutants are the new blacks, the new Jews, the new gays. I do not blame her for keeping this secret from us, though she was sloppy with it," she glanced at Darcy, arching one perfect red eyebrow, before turning her glare back on Jane. "The instinct to protect oneself from harm, to _survive_ at all costs, is the strongest that there is. You cannot understand her situation, but you should attempt to."

Jane fell silent, pressing a shaking hand to her mouth and turning her back to all of them. Darcy felt a simultaneous rush of gratitude towards Natasha, and fear that Jane would never forgive her.

The silence was broken by the sudden and unexpected appearance of a doctor. He walked into the room and stopped abruptly at the sight of them all, chart in his hands.

"Excuse me, I did not mean to interrupt. I can come back later," he said, already turning back for the door.

"There is no need, Doctor," Steve said. "What happened to her?"

The doctor looked to Darcy, silently asking for permission. She shrugged miserably, not really caring if they were all present to hear her diagnosis or not. They already knew the worst about her.

"You had a grand mal seizure, though the cause is unknown," the doctor said, coming to stand next to her bedside. "Do you have a history of seizures? Or any in the family."

Darcy shook her head. "No. I've never had a seizure before."

"You may have had one and not known it. They can be very mild. Do you ever have moments where you've lost a chunk of memory? Where you've arrived somewhere and you have no idea how you've gotten there?"

Again, Darcy shook her head and he marked something down on the chart in his hands. He asked her a few more questions before he put the chart down on her legs and pulled out a small flashlight, shining it in her eyes. The others were silent, watching the procedure without comment, and for a little while she forgot that they were there. The doctor put her through her paces, making her lift her arms and press against his, testing her resistance and her balance. He pulled a little pack of cards out of his pocket and asked her to identify what she saw, or solve the simple math equations on them. When he was done, he scribbled some more on the chart.

"I wish I could tell you why you had a seizure, but other than slightly elevated brain activity your tests are all normal. Random seizures are not terribly uncommon, and there's a good chance that it will never happen again, but I want you to be cautious, okay? Monitor your health closely, and if you feel off at all, even if you can't explain it, I want you to come back immediately."

Darcy nodded. "Can I go home now?"

He smiled down at her kindly and Darcy almost burst into tears at the sight of it. It felt like the first kind gesture she'd seen in ages, though she knew that wasn't really true. The doctor seemed oblivious as Darcy wrestled her emotions under control.

"I'm going to write you a script for a mild painkiller. Take it for the headache I'm sure you have, but if it doesn't go away after two days, I want you to come back." He pulled out a pad from his pocket, writing quickly. "Also, just as a general tip to everyone in the room," he ripped the paper off and handed it to her before looking up at the superheroes arrayed around him. "You never hold down a person having a seizure. She has intramuscular bruising on her arms because of whoever was grabbing her. Don't ever do it again," he said with finality.

"I'll have your discharge papers drawn up," he told her with another smile.

As soon as the doctor left, Stark turned to her. "You've never had a seizure before?" he asked sceptically.

Darcy looked up at him, a sharp spike of anger flared through her. "Why would I lie about that?"

If he heard the emotion in her voice, he didn't seem to care. "So why'd you have one now? Awfully convenient."

Darcy threw back the covers and slid out of the bed, going for the drawers where she suspected—vola!—her clothes would be. She snatched them up and held them to her chest against the hospital gown, thanking god that whoever had put her in it had seen fit to give her two. At least she wasn't flashing the Avengers her bare ass as well as her tattered dignity.

"I'll have my stuff out of the Tower within the hour," she said tightly, staring Tony Stark down.

"No," Jane spoke up immediately. "No. You're not going anywhere. Why would you leave?"

Darcy tilted her chin up and swallowed down the sharp lump in her throat. She refused to cry in front of them anymore, to show any more weakness. "I know when I'm not wanted."

"No one ever said that, Darcy," Clint spoke up.

"I may have," Stark interjected. "At some point."

"Shut the fuck up, Stark," Jane snapped. "You're not her boss, I am. You can kick her out of her apartment, but you can't fire her."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Technically, I could kick you both out, you and your lab. I could take away your funding. You prepared for that, Foster?"

"It's my fault."

Steve's voice broke through the tension, cutting off Jane before she could speak, though judging by the way her tiny body seemed to inflate, she was ready to start screaming at Stark.

"What's your fault?" the Widow asked.

Steve looked over at Darcy, but it wasn't her face he was focused on, it was her arm. She looked down at herself, at where the hospital gown didn't quite cover the livid bruise on her white skin. It was the kind of bruise that gave rise to the phrase 'beaten black and blue'.

"Her seizure," he said, almost to himself, his eyes glued on the mark. "It was me. I grabbed her."

"You didn't know—"

Steve shook his head sharply. "No. I hurt her…before the seizure. She told me to let her go, that I was hurting her, but I didn't listen." His hand went up and over his face again as he slumped back against the windowsill. "I was so angry, I hurt her," he whispered.

"Okay, I hate to be the dick right now," Stark said, drawing everyone's attention back to him, "but how does grabbing her arms cause a seizure?"

Everyone's gaze shifted to her, as if they were all puppets being controlled by the same master. Everyone, that is, but Steve. His head was hanging down, his hand still over his face.

"Why are you looking at me?" Darcy snapped. "Do I look like a doctor?"

"Well, you don't like a mutant, or a closet engineer, but apparently you're both of those," Stark pointed out.

Darcy glared at him before dropping her clothes on to the bed. She was tired of feeling vulnerable around them. She grabbed her jeans and started slipping them on under her gown.

"I don't really know. All I know is that I couldn't block him out when he touched me," she said, forcing first one leg and then another into the denim. "After your soldier friend, I just couldn't hold up my walls, and you wouldn't let go and your emotions were just…I don't know. Everything went weird, and then it went black. Your guess is as good as mine."

"It was my fault," Steve repeated.

No one said a word in response; they wouldn't even look at him. It probably was his fault, Darcy thought to herself, but instead of feeling angry about it, she just desperately wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.

Thankfully, whoever had dressed her had seen fit to actually tie the stays on the two gowns, so she could pull her arms in and dress under it. Grabbing her bra, she turned her back to them as she awkwardly got into it. No one offered to leave and give her some damn privacy. Assholes, she thought bitterly.

"Why didn't you tell anyone what you are?"

The voice was new, and it belonged to Sam. She had almost forgotten that he was even in the room since he'd been completely silent since they all entered it. He'd simply found a corner to lean into and stayed there, listening to everything.

Darcy looked over to find him watching her calmly, and though part of her knew it was illogical for this to be her last straw, her temper snapped and she lashed out at him.

"Why? _Why_? Were you not listening to a word she said?" Darcy demanded, gesturing angrily at Romanov. "Do you know what they _do_ to people like me? I'll tell you! We fucking disappear, never to be seen or heard of again, because we're in some laboratory basement being picked apart by scientists." She was shouting at him, but she no longer gave a fuck.

"I understand that," Sam said calmly. "But why hide it from the Avengers? You know what we do. We're openly affiliated with the X-Men. Why would you think we'd hurt you? Or even judge you?"

Angrily, Darcy ripped off her gown combo, not caring if everyone got a flash of her bra at that point. She grabbed her t-shirt and tugged it over her head.

"I've told exactly three people in my life what I am," she told Sam. "My mother, my childhood best friend, and the girl I helped in college. My mother taught me to never show people what I am, because she knew that they'd either want to hurt me, or use me—or both. And she was right. You know what that friend of mine did? He told me that my secret was safe with him, that it was _so cool_, and then he went and told _everyone_." The lump was back and she swallowed hard against it. "All of the kids at school, their parents, the teachers, _everyone_. It became a goddamn witch-hunt. My mother and I had to run in the middle of the night, had to leave all of our stuff, everything, because they were going to _kill me_."

Sam opened up his mouth to speak and Darcy held up her hand to stall whatever it was that he wanted to say. "When I met Jane, I had no reason to tell her. Why did she need to know? I was safer, and so was she, if she didn't know. But then Thor came, and with Thor came S.H.E.I.L.D, and then _you lot_, and there was no way I could tell you because if any of _your_ enemies ever found out I'd be entirely and royally _fucked_!"

"We'd protect you—"

"Protect me?" she echoed, her voice slightly hysterical. "Sam, up until recently, no one knew that S.H.E.I.L.D was actually Hydra. Could you imagine what would have happened to me if S.H.E.I.L.D had been aware of what I am? 'Cause I sure as hell can imagine it, it's all I've been imagining since you," she shot a look at Steve, "decided to toss a couple of Hellicarriers into a building."

"Look at what they did to his friend, Sergeant Barnes" she continued. "Look what they did to a man who was born _normal_. They physically and chemically altered that man's mind and body to suit their needs. What do you think they'd do to me?"

"They would rip you apart," the Widow said softly, "and remake you in their image, or kill you while trying."

Darcy nodded, even as a spike of fear shot through her. She knew the reality that awaited her if people like Hydra ever found out about her. She knew the reality that was Logan Howlett's past. Mutants were always a prize to people like Hydra, but a mutant with her abilities? She would be a gold mine to them.

"I'm not like you guys," she said. "I'm not strong, or skilled. I'm not a soldier and I'm sure as hell nothing 'super'. _I can't defend myself_." Darcy looked at Jane, who was watching her with wide eyes, her face pale and distraught. "Secrecy is my only defence."

No one seemed inclined to say anything to that, not even Tony, so Darcy bent down and grabbed her Chucks from under the bed. She sat down in the chair that Jane had occupied in order to lace them up. No one moved or spoke until she was done.

"So what now?" Barton asked, looking at Stark.

"I know I have no right to ask this," Steve said, ignoring his comrade's question. "But I'd like you to try again with Bucky."

Out of all the things she'd expected him to say _that_ was never on the list. Darcy stared at him in shock, and she wasn't the only one.

"Seriously?" Tony looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

Steve ignored them all, his eyes desperate. "Please."

"I…I don't think I can," she told him, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt. "You'd be better off getting someone else like Professor Xavier."

"Tried that already," Clint said. "First person we called while you were out like a light. He's unavailable for an indefinite amount of time."

"Miss Lewis, I_ know_ that I have no right to ask you of anything," Steve said, his gaze slipping to her arms once again, "but I'm not asking for me. I'm asking for Bucky. Please—"

"You don't understand," she interrupted. "He pulled me in, held on to me. I couldn't get out of his mind, I couldn't pull back. If you and Stark hadn't come in, I don't know that I would have ever gotten out. I…I felt his madness seep into me. I was just as terrified as he was, just as lost and confused. I…I can't do that again."

Steve seemed to deflate, falling back against the wall once more. "I understand," he said after a long moment.

Despite the way he'd treated her, Darcy felt guilty for denying him. Yes, he had hurt her, he'd ignored her pleas to stop, but she couldn't totally blame him. She'd been privy to his thoughts and feelings at that moment, and she knew that his extreme anger at her had been rooted in fear for his best friend. She could understand how he'd lost sight of his reason in that moment. The best friend he'd thought was dead, the man he'd learned had spent the last seventy years being tortured and brain washed and used as a lethal killing machine, the friend he'd only just found…Yes, she could understand how all that emotion, all that fear might override his good sense, but just because she understood didn't mean she would never be able to forget it. She wasn't sure she'd ever fully trust him again.

"Sir?"

The cool sound of JARVIS' voice made her jump, as it did Jane.

"Yes, JARVIS?" Stark said.

"Dr. Madison has been waiting some time for an indication that he may commence with Miss Lewis' discharge. Shall I inform that he should wait?"

"No, that's not necessary. He can come in. I think we're done here anyway." He looked Darcy up and down. "You don't have to leave, but this? This shit isn't done yet."

Those words felt ominous to Darcy and for a second she wondered if Stark somehow knew _everything_, but that was impossible. The only person who knew that much about her was her mama, and Clara Lewis was long dead, taking her daughter's secrets with her to the grave. Besides, Stark had a big fucking mouth; he wouldn't be able to keep his trap shut if he knew all that she could do.

The door opened, revealing the doctor once more. In his hand he had several papers, which he held up. "Miss Lewis, if you're ready."

Grabbing her bag, which had been hanging off of the side of Jane's chair, Darcy followed him out of the room and towards the nurse's station. He went over the paperwork with her, showing her where to sign, and left her with a list of signs and symptoms of the different types of seizures and how to deal with them should she have another. When she was done, he gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder and a wish for her good health.

Darcy carefully folded her copy of the paperwork and tucked it into her bag before turning for the exit. Waiting for her at the end of the hall was none other than Steve Rogers.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" she asked warily as she approached.

"I wanted to apologise for my actions," he said solemnly. "I was completely out of line. I've never laid a hand on a woman before, and I never thought I would. I'm so sor—"

Darcy held up her hand to stem the flow. "I get it, I do." He looked incredibly sceptical. "No, really, I do. You were emotional, and you weren't thinking clearly." She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the pull of the bruises he'd put on her, and glared at him fiercely. "But you should know that I know how to make fucking bombs. You feel me?"

His eyes widened slightly. "I feel you."

She nodded. "Don't ever touch me like that again and we'll be fine."

"Yes, ma'am."


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Darcy did was return to her apartment and head straight for the shower. She could smell vomit in her hair, and that dirty feeling that always accompanied a hospital visit clung to her skin. She turned on the water as hot as she could stand it and stripped naked, dropping her clothes on the bathroom tiles.

She stepped under the spray, turning her face up into it and welcoming the warmth and that little bit of a sting that came with good water pressure and an enormous heater. It washed away the sticky feeling of old tears on her cheeks, and her shoulders slowly started to relax as the room warmed up and the air grew heavy with moisture. Turning in place, she tipped her head back, soaking her hair.

"Jesus Christ," she groaned, rubbing her hand over her face and down the back of her head. "I'm so fucking stupid."

She had known the moment she stepped into that man's room that it was a bad idea, and yet she'd gone and done it anyway. Her mama would have been _appalled_ by how reckless she'd been. She knew better, she really did.

_Her mother picked up the phone on the second ring, twirling the long cord around her finger as was her habit. _

_"Hello?" she said pleasantly. "Oh, Vivian. Hello. What can—What do you mean, they know? Who knows what?"_

_Darcy glanced up from her book at the change in her mother's tone in time to see her mother turn sharply towards her daughter, eyes concerned._

_"Vivian, you've got to be kidding me! He's a little boy. Boys make up stories. There's nothing wrong with Darcy."_

_Darcy felt her stomach drop out of her, and then her mother's gaze changed with whatever it was that Vivian Walters was saying. Darcy's heart began to pound erratically as she recognised the look in her mother's eyes: fear._

_"I see. Okay. Okay. Thank you for telling me. Goodbye."_

_She hung up the phone, slamming it down into the receiver. "Go get your coat and your shoes on. I want you to go to your Uncle Peter's and wait for me."_

_"Mama—"_

_"Go, Darcy!" her mother shouted, a panicked look in her eye. "I'll meet you there. Just go!"_

Darcy sighed and reached for the bottle of shampoo. Unlike with Jeremy, she'd only exposed herself in order to help. She really and truly had thought that she might be able to bring about a positive change for James Barnes, but now she wasn't so sure. While it had been emotionally draining to be in Carolina's mind, and Darcy herself had had nightmares for a while, that experience had been so much easier. Carolina had been traumatised, yes, but her mind was solid and stable whereas his was fractured and chaotic. Just the memory of being in his mind made her shiver.

She poured a generous dollop of shampoo into her hand and began working it through her long, thick hair. The scent surrounded her, comforting and familiar, which was exactly what she needed after the stress of her morning. Tipping her head back under the spray, she thought back to how the Avengers had reacted to her revelation and, all things considered, she had to acknowledge how much worse it could have gone. The thought of the Black Widow's comments, though, brought warmth to Darcy's chest that had nothing to do with her shower. A part of her, albeit a small part, was actually relieved to have it out in the open.

But then there was Jane.

Darcy could get over it if Stark never spoke a kind to word her ever again. It wouldn't be great, but she could deal. She could even deal if all of the Avengers shunned her, though that didn't look like it was about to happen, but if she lost Jane? That was a possibility she didn't want to contemplate. Her eyes began to burn again and if tears leaked out of her eyes, at least there was no one there to notice. Darcy sniffed and grabbed her bar of soap, rubbing it absentmindedly on her skin.

She would find Jane after her shower. She would explain. She'd do her damnest to make Jane _see_. It hadn't been a deliberate slight against the astrophysicist, and Darcy knew that if she were to fix things between them she would have to make Jane see that. Her powers were like Jane's research in a way—something to be held close to the breast and kept hidden from everyone else lest it be taken away or, in Darcy's case, used against someone.

A thought occurred to her as she washed and she paused in the act of her ablutions. Holding the bar of soap out in front of her on the flat of her palm, Darcy concentrated on it: focused on the shape of it, the slippery feel of its surface, the weight of it in her palm.

Slowly, it rose a few inches above her hand and hovered there as if awaiting instruction. It was such a small thing, that little bar of soap, and yet what she could do with it meant _so much_. Suddenly angry at herself, she whipped her hand away from the bar and it dropped, landing hard against the floor of the tub. She didn't bother to retrieve it. Turning back to the water, she rinsed the soap off of her body and tried not to cry again.

By the time she left the shower, her body was flushed pink and her fingers were pruned like raisins. She stepped over her clothes, they could be dealt with later, and grabbed a towel to wrap around herself. Leaving wet footprints behind her, she padded to her bedroom and pulled out fresh clothes. She dressed more for comfort than for that unique 'Darcy style' that she usually aimed for, throwing on a pair of black yoga pants and an old long sleeved shirt that had been washed so many times it was stretched out weirdly and almost transparent.

Pulling a brush through her hair, she braided it and tied it off, not bothering to dry it. It would be a nightmare later, but she'd deal with that when the time came. Forcing her feet into a pair of socks and grabbing her shoes, she headed for the door, intent on finding Jane.

She was only a few steps away from it when a knock sounded on the other side. Darcy paused, her stomach jolting nervously.

"Doctor Foster is on the other side, Miss Lewis," JARVIS said suddenly, startling her.

"Oh. Um. Okay." Darcy crossed the distance and opened the door, shoes in one hand.

Jane looked up at her, expression absolutely miserable. Her nose and eyes were red, and it was clear that she had been crying for quite some time.

"I'm sorry!" she blurted. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—" She hiccupped. "—have yelled at you. I'm a b-bad friend."

Darcy didn't pause to think about it as she dropped her shoes and closed the gap between them, grabbing Jane around the waist and pulling her in for a hug. Jane clung to her, hands pulling at the back of Darcy's shirt, and before either of them could do a thing about it they were both crying and holding on to each other tightly. They stood like that, just holding on, and Darcy didn't bother to count the seconds as they turned into minutes. The part of her that had been quietly panicking finally quieted as the feel of Jane's thin arms squeezing her tight enough to be mildly uncomfortable.

Jane pulled back first, sniffing and giving her a watery smile. "Oh, I think I boogered on you," she said, wiping at Darcy's shoulder.

Darcy sniffed too, and laughed wetly. "Ew. Take it back. What'd I ever do to you?"

"It's how I show my love."

Instantly, the levity was gone and Darcy's face crumpled. "I love you, too. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm so—"

"No," Jane said, shaking her head. "That crazy Russian woman was right. I reacted emotionally. As soon as I stopped to think about it, I realised I was being incredibly dumb." She sniffed again, fixing Darcy with a look. "Which you know I'm not usually."

Darcy laughed again and buried her face in Jane's shoulder, careful not to let the skin of her cheeks brush against Jane's. Jane didn't seem to care much as she pulled Darcy in closer, wrapping her arms around her back and resting her head against her friend's wet hair.

"Can you forgive me?" she asked softly.

Darcy nodded adamantly against Jane's shoulder, her words muddled, "Nothing to forgive."

Jane pulled back again, just enough to free one of her arms, and held up her hand as if expecting a high five. Darcy looked at it, and then back to Jane, confused.

"What are—" Jane wiggled her fingers and it clicked in Darcy's mind. "Are…Are you sure?"

Jane nodded, a small smile on her face. "I trust you."

Darcy nearly started crying again, but she managed to stop herself. Barely. Instead, she reached up and pressed her palm flat against Jane's, opening her mind slightly to the other woman's.

Warmth rushed through her, filling the corners of her mind and sweeping her along with it. Images of Darcy, of her with Jane, with Thor, with Erik, quickly followed. Overlaying it were snippets of her own voice making some pithy comment, or her boisterous laughter. Darcy could feel Jane's concentration as she pulled up memory after memory of the two of them, everything from mopey drinking sessions to all night science benders to casual lunches where Jane made Darcy inhale her drink on a laugh.

At that, Darcy did start crying again. "I love you, too," she said sniffling and smiling. She shifted her fingers, twining them between Jane's and holding tight.

Concentrating, Darcy focused on the emotions Jane invoked within her and then pushed them at the invisible line that separated their two minds. She knew when Jane felt it, because the other woman gasped, and then began to laugh, tipping her head forward until their foreheads rested against each other, their eyes closed and their hands joined.

"That's pretty amazing, Darce."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

"Can…Can I show you something else?" Darcy asked, tugging on Jane's waist slightly. The smaller woman nodded and allowed herself to be pulled into the apartment proper. Darcy let go of her to close the door, ending the link between their minds.

"What is it?" Jane looked at her curiously, but to her credit she didn't look concerned or wary.

Darcy sighed and snatched up her keys from where they sat in a bowl near the front door. Standing in front of Jane, she held the keys tightly in one hand, and hesitated. Part of her knew that Jane deserved to know everything, and that hiding anything else would certainly break not only Jane's heart, but also the fragile ties she had to the Avengers. They would see her secrecy as a sign of duplicity, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Still, old habits died hard, and her heart pounded as she slowly opened her hand, letting her keys lie flat on her palm. It took her longer to do it, her concentration was a bit shoddy, but she forced herself to focus on the shape and feel of the keys, remembering the sharp scent of metal, and exerted her will on the item before her. Slowly, it began to hover above her palm.

"Holy shit, Darcy," Jane breathed.

Darcy didn't look at her, not because she didn't want to see Jane's reaction—she definitely did—but if she didn't give this 110% of her attention, the keys would fall. Slowly, she dropped her hand away, letting them float gently in the air between the two women, casually defying the laws of gravity.

"Holy shit," Jane repeated in the same awed tone. "Can you do that with anything?"

Darcy reached out and caught the keys just as she released her hold on them. "No, only small things. I'm not sure but…I think I'm limited to the things I can physically move. Like, I can't shove a car out of the way or anything." She grinned suddenly. "I totally tried once. Nadda."

Jane laughed suddenly, the sound reverberating off the walls in the otherwise silent apartment. "Of _course_ you did."

Darcy shrugged, smiling sheepishly. Her heart felt light, lighter than it had since her mama died back when she was a sophomore. She surged forward, grabbing Jane up in a hug again, squeezing her as tight as she could.

"Thank you," she whispered.

She felt hands on her head, gently stroking her damp hair, and Darcy promised herself that she wouldn't start crying _again_.

"Hey, Darce?"

"Mmm?"

"Can we do that again? The hand thing?"

Darcy pulled back and laughed. Reaching up, she and Jane entangled their fingers again and their minds blurred together. Darcy was careful not to go too far into Jane's consciousness. She didn't want to probe, even by accident. She'd always pictured her mental shields as a floor to ceiling concrete wall, stretching as long and far as the eye could see. It had a single door in it, and it was this door that she used to block the majority of people's feelings and thoughts when she touched them. It wasn't fail proof, and she always ended up with at least a little bit of their mental white noise, but it worked well enough to let her interact with people in a some-what normal way. But Darcy had never shared her mind with someone like this before, not even with her mama. It was both invigorating, and freeing, sharing herself like this.

They stayed like that for a while, both of them pushing thoughts and emotions at each other. When they finally pulled apart, their tears had dried on their cheeks and Darcy was glad she hadn't bothered to put on any make-up after her shower.

"Okay, enough crying," Jane said, wiping at her face. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"

"The Grille?" Darcy asked, thinking of their favourite breakfast spot. Cheap, greasy, and huge portions. It suited Jane's inherent inability to feed herself a balanced meal and Darcy's ingrained habits of eating on the cheap from her college days.

"God, yes," Jane moaned as Darcy stepped back and snatched up her shoes. "Where were you going, anyway?"

"To find you."

Jane smiled softly at her, and then reached out to steady her as she balanced on one foot to get her shoe on.

"Thanks," Darcy said with a smile.

"Any time."

Darcy sighed comfortably as she and Jane entered the lab, their bellies full of good, old-fashioned diner food. It felt as if days had passed since she'd last been in there, though it had only been half a day. Her experience with Sergeant Barnes had only put her in the hospital for a few hours, which, all things considered, was a blessing.

Their routine was old and worn in, like a favourite pair of shoes, and they fell back into it as if nothing out of the ordinary had passed. Jane buried herself in calculations that would have to be programmed into the machinery that Darcy crawled around on the floor with, grunting and giving it a swift kick when something didn't fit quite right—because contrary to what _some_ people say, sometimes kicking it really _does_ fix it.

DUM-E found her quickly. He rolled up to her, chirruping happily and offering her a selection of tools that she didn't actually need but took anyway, just to make him happy. She'd half-expected to find that Stark had forbidden the robot from being around her, but either DUM-E didn't give a single fuck for Stark's rules—a distinct possibility considering that the robot had a legit personality—or Stark's simply not that vindictive. She's not sure which one appeals to her most.

She and Jane had worked steadily for several hours, the sun dipping low in the sky outside their windows, when the semi-silence—infiltrated only by grunts and the occasional shouted inquiry—was broken by the sound of boots on linoleum. Darcy looked up as the Black Widow entered the lab, her eyes sweeping around the room and taking everything in as if she expected something to pop out at her.

Jane looked up at the same time that Darcy did, and she could see the scientist's spine straightening at the sight of the agent, but the Widow only acknowledged her with a small nod of the head. Her eyes were focused on Darcy, which, naturally, made Darcy's stomach feel like it was about to fall out of her butt.

"Lewis," she said, approaching Darcy's desk. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a pair of black gloves. "These are for you."

She dropped them on the table and looked at Darcy expectantly. Only Darcy didn't really know what to say. She stared at the gloves; they were made of some sort of synthetic material with dark grey stitching along the seams, but they may as well have been hot lava for all that Darcy wanted to touch them.

Clearly, the Widow didn't trust her to keep her powers to herself. Darcy tried to shove away bubble of emotion welling up inside her gut. Really, she shouldn't be surprised. The Black Widow was a famous spy and assassin. Why would she trust Darcy, whom she'd only met a few times, and who clearly had secrets of her own? Obviously—

"They're for when we train," she said, interrupting Darcy's spiralling thoughts. Darcy's eyes snapped up to her in confusion and watched as the Widow pulled out another pair, identical to the ones on the desk between them. "I have my own. They're lightweight and flexible, and they won't make your hands sweat. At least, not any more than normal."

Darcy blinked at her stupidly. "I don't understand..."

Romanov's lips curled up ever so slightly in the corners.

"You. Me. Training," she said slowly, pointing first to Darcy, then herself, and then holding up a fist. "You said that you can't defend yourself," she explained, dropping her hands to the table to lean on it. "I'm giving you the opportunity to change that."

Darcy's mouth dropped open in an expression that would have made her mother cringe had she been around to see it. "You…You…Me?"

The redhead nodded, looking ever more amused. "You and me. For now. Clint will teach you to shoot."

"Shoot?" Darcy squeaked.

"Shoot."

Darcy deliberately looked down at herself, and then back up at the other woman. "Are you sure about this? I'm not exactly…" Darcy searched around for the right word "…physical."

The Widow crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. "I'm up for the challenge." She stuffed the second pair of gloves back into her pocket and turned on her heel. "Wear similar clothing to what you have on now. Tomorrow. 16:00 hours. In the gym."

Jane and Darcy watched her leave, both of them sporting similar looks of shock and confusion.

"Did that just happen?" Jane murmured aloud.

"Unless I'm having a stroke, I'm pretty sure it did," Darcy said, picking up the gloves from the table before her.

Jane frowned at her. Darcy didn't need to be looking at the other woman to know; she could feel Jane's frown vibes from clear across the lab. "Are hallucinations symptoms of a stroke?"

Darcy shrugged. "Heat stroke, maybe?"

She heard Jane sigh, but Darcy ignored it. Slipping one glove on her hand, her eyes widened in surprise at how _nice_ it felt. The material was slightly cool, soft, and very flexible. She couldn't feel the seams against her skin, just the slight stretch and pull of the fabric as she clenched her fist repeatedly. She slipped the other one on and stared at her hands.

"You have to tell her about the rest," Jane said suddenly, making Darcy look over at her.

Darcy nodded. "You think I should go find her?"

"Nah. Just tell her tomorrow. Before you start training," she added. "She doesn't exactly socialise and play nice with just anyone, so I think her offer to teach you how to protect yourself is pretty important to her." Jane's focus was momentarily diverted to the doorway that the Widow had come through, her expression thoughtful before she turned to look at Darcy. "You should definitely tell her before you start anything."

Darcy nodded again, seeing the wisdom and truth in Jane's words. The Widow _didn't_ play nice with just anyone, even with the Avengers team she still held herself apart, really only _close_ with Clint. Perhaps that's why she'd chosen the archer to teach Darcy to shoot. Her stomach swooped at the thought. Shoot a gun? Her?

She groaned and dropped her head onto the table, her cheek smooshed up against the paperwork she was supposed to be filling out.

"What now?" Jane asked.

"They're gonna make me shoot a gun. _Me_, Jane."

"I'm sure they'll _teach_ you how to first, Darce. They're not just going to give you a gun and say 'Have at it, kiddo'."

Her words didn't reassure Darcy in the slightest. "Jane, I could accidentally shoot you while aiming the gun at my own head, okay? This is going to be a disaster."

"I'm sure you're not _that_ bad. Have you ever shot a gun before?"

"No!" Darcy said vehemently. "And there's a damn good reason for that! You never saw me in gym class, Jane. I was a _menace_. No hand-eye co-ordination. At all." Darcy rolled her face along the papers, making them stick to her skin as she moaned some more. "In fact, all of this is going to be a disaster. I'm going to walk into that gym and brain myself on something before she can even get a word in."

Jane suddenly started to laugh, a deep, throaty sound for someone so little. It filled the room and Darcy looked up to glare at her friend from across the lab.

"I think I'll come watch then," Jane said, between giggles.

Darcy dropped her head to the table once more with an audible _thunk_.

"You're a terrible friend."

Darcy rolled over and stared at the green glow of her clock for the umpteenth time that night. It was 4am, otherwise known as the ass crack of dawn, and she hadn't slept a wink.

Her mind was full of _him_.

Was he all right, after she'd touched him? She hadn't thought to ask at the time. In fact, it wasn't until everything had slowed down, and she'd finally convinced Jane that sleep is necessary, that she let herself even consider him again.

His mind had been so chaotic, for all the fact that it was virtually blank. Darcy was used to minds that explode with colour and sensation, memories overlapping each other with thoughts and fantasies and half-remembered dreams. His mind had been a fortress of darkness and raw, painful emotions, his only memories being that of the inexplicable cold.

She rolled over again, punching her pillow and flopping onto it angrily. What did a woman have to do for a little _sleep_? She nagged at Jane—and maybe blackmailed her a little by saying she'd tattle to Thor the moment he came back—about how important a good night's sleep was and yet there she was, counting the bumps and crevasses of her ceiling. If she were on better terms with Stark, she'd tease him about how his Tower wasn't _perfect_.

But she's not on good terms with Stark, because she had to go and grow a goddamn hero complex and touch Sergeant Barnes. The Winter Soldier.

It suddenly occurred to her to wonder if the _winter_ part of his code name had anything to do with his fear of the cold, and then her imagination ran wild creating scenarios that made her feel sick to her stomach. She sat up, throwing the covers off of her legs, and padded into the bathroom for a glass of water. She flicked on the light and turned the knob of the tap, sticking her finger under the flow to wait for it to get nice and cold. It was a habitual routine for her, one that came from growing up in apartment complexes where your water didn't always run cold, or clean, immediately, but as the water turned icy over her finger she was suddenly taken over by an irrational dislike and she yanked her hand out of the water.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered to herself, rubbing a hand over her face.

She couldn't even begin to imagine living such a bleak existence. Sure, her life had never been roses and fairy tales, but she got to grow up with a good woman for a mother and if she lost her early, at least it wasn't before Darcy was old enough to understand just how much Clara Lewis had sacrificed for her daughter. She couldn't imagine a life where her memory didn't burst with the happy images and thoughts of her childhood, a life where all of that had been taken away from her.

Without testing the water, Darcy turned both knobs and filled up her glass, choking down lukewarm water. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her eyes wide and her skin paler than usual.

Part of her wanted to blame him; for being in the Tower, for being so helpless and vulnerable—if it weren't for his presence, she would never have exposed herself—but she knew that that was the small, petty part of her that she didn't like very much and so she pushed it away.

She turned from the bathroom and headed to the front door, stuffing her feet into a pair of black flats on the way. It wasn't exactly stylish, they didn't go with her smiley face pants or her oversized t-shirt, but she wasn't particularly concerned with whether or not JARVIS would judge her and he was likely the only one who would see her.

The elevator opened for her as soon as she reached it, and the AI's smooth voice asked, "Where would you like to go, Miss Lewis?"

"Can you take me to medical?" she asked.

"Of course."

JARVIS didn't ask her any other questions, and he didn't hesitate either, which led her to believe that Stark hadn't restricted her access to anywhere, at least not to anywhere that she was allowed to go before. The doors opened to the medical floor and she was met with the now somewhat familiar sight of the receptionist's area. Darcy pressed the button on the desk and let herself in.

His room was pretty much the same as it had been before. Someone had cleaned up her vomit, and hopefully aired it out, but other than that it looked identical to the previous night. The only difference was the man inside.

He still sat in the corner under the window, making her press the side of her face against the glass in order to see him, but instead of the steady rocking motion she had encountered before there was only stillness and silence. He didn't move, not even to blink.

"He's been like that ever since you touched him."

Darcy spun around, a gasp caught in her throat, to find Steve Rogers walking up to her, a paper cup in his hand.

"I…I didn't…"

Steve held up one hand. "That wasn't an accusation," he told her. "Just an observation."

He came to stand next to her and the scent of coffee wafted over from his cup. She was silent for a moment, hesitating to voice her opinion.

"You should call Professor Xavier again," she said, focusing her attention on the man in the room. All she could see of him, without pressing her face to the window, was the top of his unkempt head. "Even if it's not for a while, he should still come."

"He's out of contact right now," Steve said quietly. Darcy looked up at him questioningly and Steve shrugged. "All I know is that it's personal."

Darcy 'hmm'd quietly, unsure of what to say to that. They stood for a moment in an awkward silence, neither of them moving away from the window, before Steve suddenly thrust his coffee at her.

"Want some?"

She glanced between the coffee and Steve, taking in his awkward expression.

"Uh…"

"Of course you don't, sorry," he said quickly. "I'm sure you'd rather have your own. Do you want one? I can go get you one."

Darcy watched as a pink stain stole over his neck and cheeks, and she almost wanted to smile despite her knowing exactly why he was so nervous around her. It was hard to resist the earnestness of Captain America, complete with the anxious back of the neck rubbing, and the awkward shuffling of the feet. Feeling suddenly generous, Darcy decided to cut him some slack and reached out for the coffee.

"Sure, but I'll keep this one, thanks," she said, taking a sip. It was way too sweet for her tastes, but she could hardly give it back. "You don't have any cooties, do you?"

He blinked at her. "Cooties?"

"Yeah, you know? 'Circle, circle, dot, dot, now I've got my cooties shot'?"

His look of confusion lasted for another second before he suddenly grinned. "Your idea of cooties must be different from mine."

Darcy tilted her head at him, a slight frown on her brow. "Why? What's your idea of cooties?"

"Fleas, mostly. Bed bugs. Vermin in general."

"_Fleas_!"

"So you're not asking me if I'm infected with bugs?" he asked, still grinning.

"No!" She huffed, half a laugh, half exasperation. "It's a child's game. Usually boys would tease their friends if they touched a girl. As in," she put on a whiney voice, "eeeew, now you've got girl cooties."

Steve chuckled and shook his head. "Soldiers called fleas and other bugs cooties. It was common to get them when you ate, slept, and lived in pit of mud."

"I can only imagine," she said, shaking her head. "Though, now that I think about it, I have no idea why I expected you to know what the hell I was talking about."

He shrugged slightly, his smile turning a bit sad. "It's nice, sometimes, when people forget about Captain America."

Darcy nodded but, again, didn't know what to say to that. If she felt closer to him she might ask him what it was like being Captain America, both then and now, but not only did she barely know him, they didn't exactly have a solid track record to work from. Silence reigned again between them and Darcy took another sip of his coffee, the sugary taste washing over her tongue.

"I don't really know what to do for him," Steve said suddenly. "The doctors…He won't let them near him. It's the only time he really responds to anything, is when they try to get close. They can't take anymore blood, and they can't hook him up to an IV. He's not eating, or drinking. I don't know how long he can hold on like this."

"And you have no idea when Professor Xavier is going to be available," Darcy said, voicing the unspoken thought between them.

Steve didn't say anything, which she appreciated. He might have been trying to pressure her, but she didn't really think so. She was the one who had sought out the Sergeant's room, and Steve couldn't have known that she'd be there. Besides, if this was his idea of putting on the pressure then he'd have made a pretty shitty S.H.E.I.L.D agent.

Darcy took one final sip of his coffee before holding it out to him. "I have to go get ready for work," she told him. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Finish it," he said.

She smiled slightly and shook her head. "Way too much sugar," she confessed, wiggling the cup a bit. "I promise, I don't have cooties."

His lips turned up in a soft smile then, and he took the cup from her. "Should I ask the nurse about a cooties shot, just in case?"

Darcy chuckled and turned on her heel. "You totally should…Make sure she doesn't have an actual needle in her hand, though. She just might stab you with it."

Darcy required directions from JARVIS in order to find the gym. Apparently there was more than one, though that really shouldn't have surprised her, considering whom the Tower belonged to. She walked into a large, well-lit room, one side lined with mirrors and mats, the other side liberally decorated with weight lifting equipment. In the middle of the mats was the Widow, her legs spread wide in a split and her upper body bowed elegantly over one leg.

"Okay, so there's something you should know before we start," Darcy said in lieu of a greeting. "Actually, two things."

The Widow straightened up and looked at her for a second before her eyes dropped to Darcy's chest and she straight up grinned. Darcy looked down at her shirt and blushed a bit.

"Well…you know." On her ample chest was a cute cartoon picture of a rooster standing beside a kitten. Underneath it were the words 'I'll take both'.

"Interesting choice of attire," the Widow remarked mildly, lips still twisted into a smile.

"It was this or the 'I Sell Crack for the CIA' one," Darcy admitted. "Laundry day is fast approaching."

Romanov shook her head slightly and straightened out of her stretch, shaking out her limbs. Darcy took in her long sleeved shirt and work out pants, pretty much the same outfit as Darcy wore, minus the sexual innuendo shirt. On the floor where she'd been stretching were the same gloves that Darcy held in her hand.

"What is it that you wish to tell me?" the Widow asked, bending her arm behind her back in a manner that didn't look humanly possible to Darcy.

"First off, one, or both of us, is going to leave here with something broken," Darcy said in a rush. "Probably me, let's be honest here, but seriously, it's inevitable. I'm a liability problem, you should probably be forewarned."

Romanov's eyebrows went up but she looked immensely amused, if the spread of her smile was anything to judge by. "As I said earlier, I am prepared for a challenge."

"And uh, the second thing was, well, you see…" Darcy bit her lip as the other woman simply _watched_ her, face suddenly wiped clean of any previous emotion. It was incredibly intimidating, which was probably why she did it. "The thing is, I can move shit with my mind."

The Widow's eyes widened slightly and her head tilted to the side as if examining Darcy from another angle might reveal more information, but other than that, she didn't react.

"Show me."

"Uhmm…"Darcy's mind cast about for something, before she remembered the gloves in her hand. She held them out, palm up, and concentrated on them. Slowly, they rose and levitated about a foot away from her palm. Darcy risked a glance at the other woman. Her blue eyes were zeroed in on the gloves.

"The others do not know about this, do they?"

Darcy released her hold on the gloves, letting them drop. She managed to catch one, but the other she had to scoop off the floor. "Uh, no. Well, Jane knows. But none of the other Avengers. I didn't exactly want to tell them…before."

The Widow nodded briefly, her hard eyes sweeping over Darcy now. "What else can you do?"

"That's all of it."

Romanov crossed her arms over her chest. "And how strong is this power?"

"Uh…I don't know? I mean, I can't do anything super with it," Darcy said, shrugging. "Mostly, I just use it when I'm too lazy to get up from the couch."

Romanov's lip twitched ever so slightly, and Darcy would have missed it had she not been paying such close attention for the other woman's reaction to her news. It gave her hope that all was still well.

Slowly, the Widow began walking around Darcy, her arms still crossed over her chest, but her eyes now focusing on different parts of Darcy's body.

"Your form is good for a civilian," she said abruptly. "You are not overweight or physically deformed, but this is through no effort of your own."

"Wha—"

Darcy was cut off. "You eat too much junk food," Romanov said. "Really, you are lucky that your metabolism is as good as it is, or you _would_ be fat, not just curvy. If you are to take your training seriously, this must stop. No more sugary foods or drinks."

"No more Pop-Tarts?" Darcy was aghast.

Romanov's lips _definitely_ twitched then. "No more Pop-Tarts," she echoed. "No pop, juice, chips, cookies…none of it." She reached out and poked Darcy's hip. "You will replace your softness with muscle."

"I thought you just said I'm not fat," Darcy said, a tad defensively. She was quite used to not being the typical beauty—Romanov was right, she was definitely a _curvy_ woman—but that didn't mean it didn't sting when men's eyes skipped over every part of her except for her breasts.

"You're not. You're a beautiful woman," Romanov said simply. Darcy blushed slightly at the compliment, but the other woman either didn't notice, or didn't care. "But you are a _soft_ woman. This is not a bad thing for a civilian, but you know that you are more than that." Romanov stopped in front of her, her expression calm and serious. "You are part of the Avengers' circle, and you are a mutant. There is a target on your back and being a soft, beautiful woman will not help you with that. This is your choice, but if you wish to learn how to protect yourself then you will have to change your lifestyle."

Darcy didn't really have to think about it. She knew Romanov was right long before she even finished speaking. This was something Darcy _wanted_, desperately. It would be nice, she thought, to not always feel so vulnerable, to not feel like a handicap the next time a Destroyer decided to pop by.

"Well, I guess fewer Pop-Tarts is probably better for me in the long run, huh?"

Romanov smiled slightly and nodded, approval in her expression. "Yes."

From then on, she began laying out Darcy's new schedule. In the evenings or the mornings, whenever she could find time, she would begin a workout regimen. The Widow gave her the option of either running or swimming for her cardio and Darcy opted for the swimming since it meant less bouncing of her breasts. When she wasn't doing a cardio day, she'd do weight training. Romanov produced a few sheets of paper with instructions on weight and repetition and began showing her which machines she would need and how to use them.

"When am I going to learn how to choke a man out with my thighs?" Darcy asked, much later.

"I didn't choke him out," the Widow corrected, looking perilously close to rolling her eyes. "Though I could have."

"Minor detail," Darcy waved a dismissive hand. "Show me how to kill men with my thunder thighs."

At that, Romanov actually _laughed_. Darcy stared at her for half a heartbeat—mostly in shock—before she joined in.

"We will work up to that," the Widow said, still laughing. "First, you'll learn basic defense techniques. Come, grab your gloves. We'll start now."

She was exhausted, both mentally and physically.

Her body ached in places that she didn't even know _could_ ache, but she probably should have expected that when she was training with Natasha Romanov, a woman with a famous, and slightly macabre, reputation for killing people without a weapon.

So why she found herself pressing the button on the receptionist's desk on the medical floor once again was a mystery even to her.

Turning the corner towards his room, she wasn't even remotely surprised to find Steve standing there, paper cup in hand once again. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps but he didn't exactly look surprised to see her either.

"You look tired," he observed.

"Understatement of the century," Darcy agreed, coming to stand beside him and looking through the window. "Any change?"

The slight smile on his face dropped off and he turned back to the window. "He almost killed a doctor today."

Darcy blinked in shock. "_Why?_"

Steve sighed heavily, making his shoulders rise and fall and drawing Darcy's attention to just how _tight_ everything he wore seemed to be. Something told her that it wasn't vanity, but rather a lack of other options considering his size.

"The doctor tried to force an IV into his arm," he told her. "It was like a switch had been flipped inside of him. He went from docile and harmless to…" Steve hesitated and glanced down at her. "He became the man who shot me again."

Darcy looked back at the man in the room, sitting in the same corner as she'd last seen him, still as a statue. If Steve hadn't told her differently she would have assumed that he hadn't moved an inch since that morning.

"I want to help him," she said, still looking at the Soldier. "But I'm not willing to sacrifice myself for him."

"I understand that."

"No, I don't think you do," Darcy disagreed, looking up at Steve. "That'd be like me saying I understand what it's like to fight in a war, or sleep for seventy years and wake up to an entirely new world."

True understanding washed over his face, and he nodded slowly. "You can't understand, but you can try," he said.

"Exactly," she agreed. "His mind is like a box." She gestured with her head towards his friend. "A box that's been painted black, sealed shut, and stuck in the deep freezer. I'm afraid of going back into that box."

Steve didn't say anything. What could he say, really? Darcy sucked in a breath, and her stomach jumbled with nerves. She wasn't sure she was making the right choice, but neither was she sure that she could live with herself if she didn't try to help. It was what had brought her into his room in the first place, despite the knowledge that she could expose herself and her powers.

"I'll try to reach him again," she said, "under two conditions."

He turned to her, and there was naked hope plastered all over his face. "What conditions?" he breathed.

"Someone must be in there with me, at all times. JARVIS can monitor my vitals while I'm with him, but someone has to be there to separate me from him if I can't do it myself."

"Done," Steve said instantly.

Darcy held up a hand. "It has to be someone who can take him on, not a nurse or a doctor. It has to be one of the Avengers, preferably you or Agent Romanov, or Thor if he was around. If he'll flip out on a doctor for trying to put a needle in his arm there's no telling what he might to do to me if I'm poking around in his mind."

"Done," Steve said again. "I'll stay with you."

"The other condition is that you get Professor Xavier as soon as you can," she continued. "He's an incredibly strong mutant, and he's trained for this shit, whereas I am definitely _not_." Darcy looked up at him seriously. "You need to understand that. I'm not a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, or anything like that."

That got his attention, and he glanced back over his shoulder towards the window and his friend. "Do you think you could accidentally hurt him?"

Slowly, Darcy shook her head. "I don't think so. My power doesn't manifest physically…" She winced and corrected herself. "Well, not in that way at least."

Steve raised an eyebrow at her, and Darcy waved a dismissive hand. "I can move shit with my mind, but not really far, and only small things. I'm not putting on a show right now."

"You can…move things? With your mind?"

He looked incredibly sceptical and that got Darcy's back up. Her unwillingness to perform her little party trick for the third time in less than 24 hours disappeared. "You know what?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "I _will_ demonstrate. Drop your coffee."

"What?"

"Drop. It."

Steve shot her another sceptical look but did as she demanded, holding his coffee out a bit and then releasing the cup. It was cocky of her—she'd never done such a thing before, it required her to concentrate on not only the paper cup, but its contents as well—but her pride demanded it. Focusing on the shape of the cup, the ugly orange and brown of the paper, and the scent of fresh coffee, Darcy's eyes followed the movement of the cup's fall until it abruptly stopped about mid-thigh level. Slowly, it rose until it was back at its previous height, hovering a scant few inches away from Steve's hand.

Darcy reached out and snagged the cup from midair, looking up at Steve's utterly gobsmacked expression with a hint of smug pride. "And not a drop spilled. Pick your jaw up off the floor, Cap'."

His eyes darted between the cup and her face, his lips slightly parted in shock. "You…I…Wow. That must be…incredibly helpful."

Darcy made a 'kinda sorta' face, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm starting to feel like a performing monkey," she told him. "That's the third time I've done that."

"But…" He hesitated, glancing down at her hands. "Can't you use that to protect yourself?"

"From your friend?"

"From anyone," he clarified. "Before you said that you can't defend yourself." He nodded at her hands. "Seems like a pretty good defence to me."

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Nope. I told you, no big stuff. It's pretty much limited to my physical strength. I couldn't throw your friend off me with my power any more than I could with my arms."

"Oh." He almost sounded disappointed. "Well."

"Which is why you need to be in there," she said, jerking her thumb towards the room. "Or someone who can take him."

He followed the direction her thumb and his face took on a distinct look of determination. "I'll be in there," he said after a moment, turning his intense blue eyes on her. "You have my word."

Darcy eyed him warily. "You're taking this awfully well."

His eyebrows rose briefly and he tipped his head to the side. "I had a serum injected into me to make me a super soldier and slept in ice for seventy years," he said dryly. "Your little trick is nothing."

Her lips curled up at the corners. "Touché."


	4. Chapter 4

"You don't have to come with me, you know," Darcy said, letting herself into the medical ward and holding open the glass door for Jane.

"I know I don't," Jane said mildly. "But I want to."

"For Science?" Darcy asked, glancing at her friend over her shoulder.

Jane shrugged, completely unabashed. "Maybe just a little bit."

"Glad you got my back, bro," Darcy joked.

"_That_ is what Captain America is for," Jane told her. "I still think you're a little bit mental for willingly going into the room with that man. Again."

They turned the corner, revealing Steve's profile as he stood at the window to his friend's room. Darcy didn't bother to reply to Jane's unvoiced question, because she'd already gone over it with the other woman several times since she'd revealed that she had agreed to try to help get Sergeant Barnes out of his own head. Jane hadn't been all that thrilled, but she'd grudgingly let it go. Sort of.

"Hi," he said, turning at the sound of their footsteps. "Dr. Foster. I didn't expect to see you here."

Jane shrugged and stepped up to the window, peering in. "Curiosity."

Steve's eyebrows rose slightly, and the expression on his face told Darcy that he wasn't totally happy with that answer. His eyes shifted between Jane and the hospital room beyond the glass, concern evident. Darcy could understand that concern—the reappearance of the famous Bucky Barnes seventy years after he was supposed to be dead would be enough to attract a hell of lot of attention but adding in the whole 'brainwashed assassin' bit and it was no wonder Steve was apparently a bit protective of his friend. He didn't want Barnes to become a sideshow act, something to be gawked at.

"Curiosity is the scientist's sin," she told him. "She's here more for me, than him."

Jane turned around at that, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course I'm here for you. I don't even know him."

"Yes, well…" Darcy shrugged. "I suppose we should, um, start."

"Dr. Foster, you will remain out here," Steve said, and there was no question that he was giving her an order.

Jane eyed him up and down for a moment, not even remotely cowed by his tone. "And if he goes berserk in there?"

"You will not be able to help from inside," he told her plainly. "Inside you would be another person for me to protect. Outside, you're in a better position to get help."

Jane considered it for a moment before her shoulders relaxed slightly. "All right. I'll wait out here."

Steve gave her a brief nod and reached for the door, entering before Darcy. She was used to his well-bred manners, and this little act surprised her until she realised that he was most likely assessing the threat level his friend posed before he let her into the room. His broad back practically spanned the entire doorway, effectively blocking Darcy from sight of anyone inside, and keeping her in the dark about what was going on beyond the wall of All-American muscle. Before she could get worked up about what might be waiting for her, however, he stepped to the side, letting her into the room.

Nothing had changed, though she didn't know why she'd expected that it might. If it had, she would have noticed earlier when she was standing right next to the window where Jane was currently watching them with a slightly anxious expression. Sergeant Barnes sat under said window, his eyes still riveted on the floor before him.

Darcy glanced at Steve, but he looked just as unsure as she felt, his eyes darting between his friend and her. Clearly, he wouldn't be much help, she thought to herself.

"No time like the present," she muttered under her breath, taking a step forward.

She didn't want to startle him by standing over him, so she sat down and cautiously scooted forward on her butt, cleaning the linoleum with the ass of her jeans. She stopped when his sock clad toes almost brushed up against her pants.

Remembering that he didn't react well to being called 'Bucky' she consciously avoided using that as she slowly reached out and touched his clothed leg. "Sergeant Barnes…" she tried, watching his face keenly for a reaction.

She brushed her hand up his bony shin, to the knob of his knee, the scrubs that they'd put him in feeling smooth under her fingertips. "Do you remember me, Sergeant?" she asked. He didn't so much as blink. She tried a different tack, using his given name. "James? Can you hear me, James?"

Darcy glanced back at Steve and almost winced at the expression on his face. It was desolate, the pain in his eyes raw and hard to look directly at. He watched his friend's face with a desperation that verged on manic.

She turned back and ran her hand over the leg in front of her, firmer this time. "Can you look at me?" She paused, hoping for a reaction, but nothing was forthcoming. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened her mouth again, "Bucky?"

As she'd expected, he flinched, his entire body jerking at the sound of that name. Behind her, Steve made a pained noise. Guilt flooded her.

"I'm sorry," she told the unresponsive man, her words tumbling out of her in a rush. "I don't think you like being called that name, but I had to check that you're still listening. You're not exactly a chatterbox, you know." She squeezed his knee, trying to act as if she wasn't speaking to a brick wall with a pulse. "I'm going to touch your hand now, okay? So, uh, please don't…don't grab at me like you did before, okay?"

It was like speaking to a coma patient despite the fact that his eyes were open and occasionally blinked. Part of her wanted to look back to Steve for reassurance, or perhaps up at where she knew Jane would be standing, her nose probably pressed to the glass, but she knew that neither of them were exactly in a position to reassure her.

Taking a fortifying breath, she bit the bullet and reached out with her hand, slipping her fingers over the back of his and her eyes fluttering shut.

Finally, she got a reaction, but it wasn't the one she wanted.

He was waiting for her, and she felt him reach out, latching on to her like a drowning man in the middle of the ocean. His grip was like iron, his desperate fear flooding her mind. She tried to pull back, and he responded by holding on tighter to her, his mind doing the equivalent of a bear hug to hers. Panic shot through her, but she still had enough presence of mind to pull herself away from him physically.

She fell backwards, landing hard on the linoleum. Her head cracked painfully against the floor but the physical pain was nothing compared to the way her mind reeled from the sudden and violent disconnection. The world seemed to tip sideways, as if her equilibrium had been thrown out of whack, and she blinked hard against the blurriness of the world around her.

"Wha—" Her head felt fuzzy and thick, but she registered the feel of hands lifting her up by the shoulders, of a body behind hers.

There was a loud bang, quickly followed by Jane's worried voice. "Darcy? Darcy, are you okay?"

"I think she might have hit her head on—"

"Why didn't you damn well _catch_ her?"

"I didn't expect her to just suddenly fall back! She seemed fine just a moment before!"

"She's doing this—"

"Ugh. Will you both shut up?" Darcy moaned, reaching up to rub at the back of her head. "Neither of you are helping right now." Behind her, Steve shifted slightly, reminding her that he was actually somewhat helpful. "'Cept you, Steve. You make a good chair."

He snorted. "Not exactly being a chair, am I?"

"Okay, maybe a one of those pregnancy pillows you see in maternity stores. The ones for your back."

"Oh, Christ, Darcy," Jane groaned, slapping a hand against her face. "Are you all right?"

Darcy pushed herself up into a sitting position and rubbed her head. The world was mostly back in focus now, and while she could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, it was sourced at the spot where she'd knocked her skull on the floor.

"Yeah," she said. "Just a goose egg, I think."

"Why the hell did you fall backwards in the first place?" Jane demanded, kneeling in front of her, eyes anxious.

"He kind of got the jump on me," Darcy explained. "But I'm ready for him this time."

"You're _not_ doing that again."

She shot Jane a look. "The hell I'm not."

"Darcy, you—"

"Am a grown ass woman capable of making my own decisions?" Darcy interrupted sharply. "Why, yes I am. Thank you for noticing."

Jane shut her mouth, her expression pinched and disapproving, but she didn't continue. She glared at Steve over Darcy's shoulder, as if everything were his fault, and then stood.

"Fine. But I'm staying in the room."

"I don't think—" Steve began but was cut off by Jane's curt, "I'm _staying_." Wisely, Darcy ignored them both and took up her previous position in front of Barnes.

She placed her hand on his knee. "What did I tell you about the grabby thing? You can't do that, dude, it's scary as fuck." She patted the knee gently. "We're going to try this thing again, okay?"

Darcy didn't expect a response as she reached for his limp hand once more, and so she was incredibly shocked when that hand suddenly flexed, fingers stretching for a moment, as if anticipating her touch. Her gaze shot up to his face, but his expression was just as blank as before, his eyes still trained downwards. Still, it gave her a little surge of hope.

"Let's do this," she whispered, her voice so low that only he would hear it. Her fingers trembled slightly, but then there was the warmth of his hand under hers, and her mind sunk into his.

This time, she was ready for his mental launch. Before he could grab hold of her, before his emotions could flood her, she threw her own at him. It was Jane and her presence that inspired the idea, the memory of the two of them sharing emotions with each other through the connection of their palms. Just as she had done on that day, Darcy concentrated on her own emotions and _shoved_ them through their mental link.

She knew that he'd felt it, because all of a sudden he went still, both mentally and physically. With her eyes closed she couldn't see his physical body, but she could still hear the room around her, the sound of four bodies breathing and living in close proximity. In front of her, his breath stuttered in his chest and halted. In her mind, she felt confusion, a trickle of it that slowly grew into a steady stream.

Darcy felt it like a blow and she almost wanted to cry. _Confusion_.

She'd thrown love at him. Love, and affection, and fondness, emotions pulled from her happiest memories. In the face of that, he could only be confused. He didn't recognise what she'd shared with him, the emotions that were tied to so many moments of her life and that she always felt manifested as a fuzzy kind of warmth, right under her sternum. She pushed her emotions at him again, pushed that warmth that resided inside of her chest.

His confusion turned to fear.

He reared back mentally, and then it became Darcy who was clinging, holding on for dear life. She reached for him, trying to keep her own emotions level and calm, to project that on to him so that he might calm down.

He didn't.

The fear increased, but it had no direction. It was not like before, when she had _known_ that it was the cold that needed to be feared. This was mindless, a wild panic that had his breath shuddering through his chest and his pulse racing beneath the skin of his hand.

_James…_ She tried using words, projecting them into his mind. Using his title was too impersonal, and she wanted to build some sort of trust between them, and if calling him 'Bucky' from the safety outside of his mind made him upset then she didn't want to know how he'd react if she said it while she was inside his head. _James, please. I'm not going to hurt you. Please, talk to me. Tell me how to help you!_

Abruptly, as if it had been triggered by her words, images began flashing through his mind. She could tell that he wasn't purposefully sharing these with her. There was no flavour of intent on them, they were just memories floating through his consciousness. They were fragmented and blurry, as if he couldn't quite hold them down, but she got the impression of a dimly lit room and the presence of people around her.

No. Not people. _Threats_.

And then the voice began. It was low, soothing almost, though she couldn't make out any of the words. It floated around her in a constant loop, never breaking for breath or thought. Guilt flooded him at the sound of the voice, guilt and fear. Beneath her fingertips, his hand twitched.

_James. I don't understa—_

A face floated into her mind, crystal clear where all of the others had been indistinct. It was a man, significantly older and greying but with the clear signs that he'd once been very handsome. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue, and they were locked on to hers, quietly furious. His mouth, framed by lines, began moving, but the words were indistinct and she couldn't tell what he was saying.

_James, who is that?_

The guilt she'd felt from him earlier surged again, and she felt it as if it were her own before he suddenly pulled away from her, the sensation sharp and abrupt enough in her mind that it startled her back into herself.

She blinked suddenly in the dim light of the room around her as sensations she'd forgotten about began to rush back in. Her body was stiff, her ass numb, and her lower back ached slightly. The world was blurry again, though she was thankful that there was no vertigo.

"Miss Lewis?"

Darcy visibly jumped and turned around, wincing as the motion made her muscles protest. Behind her was Steve, sitting on the floor with his back propped up against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I…Yeah. Yeah, I am."

He learned forward, turning his gaze to Barnes. "Is he all right?"

Darcy glanced back at the silent man, sitting limply in the corner. "As much as he can be, I think," she said honestly. Slowly, she rose to her knees and then stood. "Maybe we should try putting him in the bed. If my ass is numb, I can only imagine how his feels."

Steve shot to his feet, surprisingly graceful for such a bulky man, and crossed the room to cautiously crouch before his friend. When the Sergeant didn't react, Steve slowly slid the metal arm over his shoulders and hauled Barnes up. To Darcy's surprise, he supported his own weight once he was upright, and as Steve turned to guide him toward the bed the other man took steps on his own. They were slow and unsteady, but they were steps all the same.

Some part of him was participating.

Darcy nearly swooned with relief, or maybe it was a lack of food. She reached out, grabbing the wall for support as a wave of exhaustion rolled over her.

"Miss Lewis?" Steve left the bedside where Barnes was half lying, one leg dangling off the side of the bed. "You're not all right, are you? Please sit."

Hands closed around her shoulders again, guiding her towards a chair at the end of the hospital bed. He gently pushed her into it. God, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so damn _tired_.

"What's wrong? What can I do?"

Darcy opened her mouth to answer him, but instead she yawned in his face.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she said, clapping a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

"Well then," he said, mouth twitching a little. "Just tired?"

"And hungry," she answered honestly. "My liver might be in danger of being consumed by my stomach."

"Then it's a good thing Dr. Foster left to scrounge you up some food," he told her, turning back to the bed. Gently, he lifted Barnes' leg up on to the bed and tugged the sheets out from under him so that they could be draped over his body. It was a bit creepy to watch, especially since Barnes just stared at the ceiling as if he were in a vegetative state—and maybe he kind of was, she thought, reflecting on what she saw inside his head.

Darcy caught sight of the clock on the wall and gaped at it. "Eight? Holy crap."

Steve turned back to her. "You've been sitting there for nearly four hours," he confirmed. "Which is why Jane thought to get you some food. And I think she was bored."

Darcy yawned again, remembering to cover her mouth that time. "She has a surprisingly short attention span considering that it sometimes takes _years_ to make breakthroughs in science."

Steve nodded absently, one large hand smoothing the crisp white sheet over his friend's legs. "What…what did you see?"

She pulled one leg up under her, getting as comfortable as she could in the hospital chair. "I saw a room, and a man," she told him. "The room was indistinct, out of focus. I know that there were people in the room, people that he felt threatened by, but I never saw any of their faces. The only face I saw was of an older man."

Steve stood next to the bed, his hands still on the sheet, but his eyes were intent upon hers as she described all that she had seen, heard, and felt from Barnes' memories. As she spoke, his expression hardened.

"I think I know who that man was," he said when she was finished. He reached into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out a StarkPhone. It looked too small and delicate for his big fingers, but he managed just fine, pulling up a photo and turning the screen her way.

"That's him!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to look at what was clearly a professional business photo. The man was wearing a tailored three-piece suit and standing in a lavish, modern looking office. "Who is he?"

"His name was Alexander Pierce," Steve said shortly, pocketing the phone. "He was Hydra."

"Was?"

Steve gave her a pointed look and it clicked. "Ah," she said simply.

Silence fell over them. Steve turned back to Barnes, his expression closed off and hard as he stared at his best friend. Darcy considered whether or not to tell him how she had stopped the Sergeant from overwhelming her again. He hadn't asked, so perhaps he didn't want to know, or didn't think there was a special explanation. Part of her wanted to be transparent with him, but the look on his face gave her pause. Behind that practiced calm was a wounded man, and Darcy didn't want to add to the weight already bowing his shoulders.

She yawned again, unable to help herself. "I should go back to my apartment," she said, her head feeling muzzy with fatigue. "My liver will either survive or it won't."

"Livers are fairly important."

Darcy waved a hand at him lazily. "They grow back."

"Do they really?" Steve looked surprised and it took Darcy a moment to remember that he was a man born and raised in a time when physicians gave things like cigarettes a stamp of approval From what she'd read about him in high school, he probably didn't have much of a chance to get an education either; he'd been dirt poor before Project Rebirth and then he'd gone to war. It didn't exactly leave a lot of time for intellectual stimulation. Neither did coming out of said ice and discovering that the world had moved on without you. He looked intrigued, though, so Darcy scooted her chair closer to the bed so that she could lean against it, and began explaining what she knew about the regeneration abilities of the liver, and how liver transplants were done. It was actually a subject she was fairly well versed on, considering that once upon a time she had done the research to become a donor herself—but then again being a woman's daughter didn't necessarily mean that you were a genetic match for organ donation. Because life just fucking sucked sometimes.

"They take a lobe from the donor and—"

The door opened abruptly, cutting off Darcy's explanation, and Jane appeared holding two white plastic bags with boxes inside. The scent of food and grease wafted in with her and Darcy's stomach let out a terrifying growl.

"I got you that disgusting fries thing that you like so much," Jane said in lieu of a greeting. "And I had to wait forever for it, so you better enjoy it."

"You got me poutine?" Darcy exclaimed, suddenly wide-awake and excited.

Jane piled her bags on the small table at the end of Barnes' bed and dug through one to produce a white box with delicious grease stains already on it. It was filled to bursting, beef gravy and a lone fry spilling out of one corner.

"Oh my _god_," Darcy moaned, reaching out for the food. "I fucking _love_ you."

Jane smirked and held up a fork. "I thought you might."

"What _is_ that?" Steve asked, watching as Darcy opened her container and made another noise, slightly more obscene than the first. She wasted no time in grabbing the fork and beginning to shovel fries, cheese, and gravy into her mouth.

"It's a Canadian thing," Jane explained, pulling out a few more boxes. "And it's disgusting."

Darcy made an indignant sound, pointing her fork at Jane threateningly. Jane was unfazed, however, as she rolled her eyes and held out a box to Steve.

"I got you a double burger, I hope that's all right."

"Oh." He looked slightly surprised to be given food. "No, that's fine. Thank you, Dr. Foster."

Jane shrugged off his thanks and pulled out a burger of her own and a side of plain fries. They began to eat in silence, both Jane and Steve opting to stand rather than go find a chair. It was a bit odd, Darcy reflected silently, sitting in the room of a comatose man and eating greasy diner food, but then again her life hadn't exactly been normal since, well, _ever_ really, but she only started counting when Thor fell out of thin air.

The silence continued, only broken by the sound of quiet chewing and the squeak of Styrofoam containers, but for once it wasn't awkward or tense.

**xXx**

The pool was quiet, dimly lit, and warm. It was not really conducive to waking a person up, especially a person like Darcy who hated the early morning hours. She was sorely tempted to fold her towel on to the floor and take a nap instead of doing laps, but she knew that the Widow would ask eventually and Darcy hated lying—especially to people who could kill you with the flick of a wrist.

The water was, thankfully, just shy of lukewarm, and it provided the little wake-up call that she needed in order to get going. Swimming was something she actually enjoyed, though she wished that reliable waterproof headphones were a thing that existed. The feel of her body being supported by the water, of her smooth motion forward, was soothing in a way that running just wasn't. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that she practically had to wear body armour in order to run with breasts as large as hers were. It was both a blessing a curse, her body. She personally found curves and _softness_ (as the Widow had put it) to be attractive, but it was a double-edged sword when it came to buying bras off the rack, or just a simple pair of jeans that fit her ass properly. Not to mention the damn back problems that were definitely _not_ covered under student health insurance.

Darcy approached the wall and dove under the water, twisting as she did so that she could push off from the tiles. Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen and she surfaced, taking a deep breath of air. It wasn't enough. By the time she reached the other end of the pool she found herself panting pretty hard, and after only _one_ lap. Granted, it was an Olympic sized pool, because Stark did not believe in doing things by halves, but _still_. She grabbed the side of the pool and treaded water lazily.

"Christ," she muttered to herself, looking back at the other end of the pool. "Well, this sucks."

She let her breathing calm down a bit before she pushed off the wall again, face first in the water. At least she wasn't a smoker.

Time slipped by as Darcy swam, her mind wandering from one topic to another with no real purpose or destination. Sometimes she would tell herself little stories, but that morning her mind couldn't, or wouldn't, focus on any one topic for very long. In fact, she was so lost in _not_ thinking about anything that she almost missed the dulled sound of a familiar robot calling for her attention.

Darcy stopped mid-stroke and looked up, water in her ears and her goggles clouding her already challenged eyes. She could just make out the dark shape of what was undeniably DUM-E standing on the edge of the pool platform.

"What are you doing here?" she called to him. "You shouldn't be in here. It's too damp for you." She pointed at the door that he'd most likely came in through. "Go on outside, silly."

He made a trilling sound at her and raised his claw, as if in greeting.

"Yes, I'm happy to see you too, but I'm swimming right now DUM-E. Why don't you meet me in the lab later?"

She was never wholly sure how much of her conversations with the robot were actually understood, and as she watched him she was fairly certain the answer was 'slim to none' because instead of turning around and leaving the pool, the stupid robot rolled forward.

Right off the edge and into the pool.

Darcy had a moment of sheer panic, and made an instinctive lunge toward the edge, though she'd never make it in time, but when the splash and the terrified squeal of the robot did not accompany any blinding pain indicative of being electrocuted, Darcy relaxed for a moment, turning around in time to see poor DUM-E sink to the bottom of the pool like he was a bag of rocks..

"Oh, no." She watched as his lights flickered and went out. Clearly, he was not waterproof. She swam over to the shallow end of the pool—thank _god_ he'd not been near the deep end—and reached under the water to get a grip on his claw. It quickly became apparent, however, that she would not be getting him out of the pool on her own. Hell, she wouldn't even be tugging him closer to the wall.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Miss Lewis."

"Is Captain Rogers in the building by any chance?"

"Captain Rogers is in the medical ward."

"Can you ask him to come down here and help me?" she asked. "If he's not too busy."

"Of course, Miss Lewis."

The room went silent, the gentle lap of water against tile broken only by her futile attempts to move DUM-E. Adjusting her goggles, Darcy dropped beneath the surface to take a closer look at his structure, hoping to find a place where she might disassemble part of him and make it easier for her and Steve to get him out of the water. She'd made three or four of these checks when she surfaced to find Steve standing at the edge of the pool.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that robots don't belong in pools?" he asked, his tone teasing.

"How would you know, Mr. I-Was-Born-In-The-20s?" she snarked back, pulling her goggles off.

Steve shook his head, still smiling. "I was born in 1919. Check your facts."

"Yeah, cause they totally had robots in 1919," she said. "Now, do you think you can help a gal out here?"

Steve pulled his shoes and socks off, taking his phone and wallet out of his pocket before he slipped into the pool. "How did this happen?"

"I think he wanted to say hi," Darcy explained. "I'm not sure he knows what water is."

"His name is DUM-E for a reason, Miss Lewis," intoned JARVIS, making both her and Steve look up. Steve chuckled as he crouched down and got a good grip on DUM-E. When Darcy made to copy him, he shook his head at her.

"Don't worry, I've got it."

"Are you sure?" she asked dubiously. "I mean, I know you're Captain America and all, but he's solid titanium. He ain't no feather duster."

"I've got it," Steve insisted.

"O-kay." Darcy backed off, giving him plenty of room.

She watched as Steve got his feet under him, adjusted his grip, and then lifted DUM-E straight up. Her mouth dropped open slightly as he turned to her and grinned.

"See? I told you, I go—"

Without warning, Steve lost his footing against the slippery tile. He went down fast, DUM-E in his arms. Water splashed everywhere, and for a second Darcy felt her heart stutter in her chest, but then Steve was pushing DUM-E off of him and rising to the surface, spluttering.

"You got it, huh?" Darcy asked, trying hard not to laugh.

Steve rubbed water out of his eyes and glared at her. "Shut up."

Darcy snorted, and then giggled, and then burst into loud guffaws that echoed off the walls of the poolroom, bouncing around and making it sound as if there were several people laughing at once. Steve continued to glare, but with his blonde hair plastered to his skull and the sullen look on his face he looked a petulant child, and it only made her laugh harder.

"This is what I get for helping you," he grumbled, reaching down for DUM-E again.

This time, Steve was prepared when he lifted the robot in his arms. Darcy's giggles died out as she watched his muscles flex under the grey t-shirt that clung to every curve and dip of his body. Water ran off of both man and robot as Steve hefted DUM-E above his head and turned towards the ledge, putting his burden down with a surprising gentleness.

He turned back to Darcy and shot her a grin that made her insides do a strange little wiggle. "I told you, I got it."

Without waiting for a response, he hauled himself out of the pool, water rushing off of him in rivulets and creating a huge puddle on the tiles. Darcy shook her head, trying to physically dislodge the image of Steve in soaking wet clothes. It wouldn't do to develop a crush on Captain America.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Where do you want to take him?" Steve clarified.

"Oh, probably should take him to Stark's workshop," Darcy said. She grabbed the side of the pool, prepared to haul herself out, when Steve offered his hand to her.

"Uh…" She glanced at his hand. "Thanks but no thanks."

Realisation dawned over his face. "Oh. Right." He pulled his hand back and stood up, looking mighty awkward. "Sorry."

Darcy pulled herself out of the pool, trying not to be self conscious about the fact that she was standing in front of Captain America wearing a one piece that still managed to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.

"No biggie," she said. "How're we going to get him upstairs though?"

Steve looked down at the pile of broken robot for a second, shrugged, and then picked DUM-E up once again as if he weighed nothing. "Grab my stuff, will you?" he asked, only a slight strain in his voice.

Darcy hurried to scoop up his discarded items, along with her own shorts, flip-flops, and towel. Her clothes were in the locker room but they would be fine there until DUM-E was dropped off. She scurried after him, her flip-flops slapping madly as she followed the wet trail he left behind, hugging everything to her chest and hoping that Steve wouldn't mind if his socks were a bit damp.

They squeezed into the elevator, Steve trying to not bang the robot off the walls and leave dents in the glossy wood, and JARVIS began the descent to Stark's workshop without a word.

"This is really awkward, isn't it?" Steve asked suddenly.

"Yeah," Darcy agreed. "I'm dripping."

"That made it more awkward."

"Yep."

The doors opened to an expectant Barton, who stopped mid-step when he spotted who was occupying the elevator, and a male Stark Industries employee whom Darcy didn't recognise.

"Well, this is different," Barton said, eyeing the pair of them. The young man beside Barton gave her the 'up and down' and smirked. Darcy, still standing in nothing but her suit and swimming cap, felt her awkward meter shoot straight up.

"DUM-E decided to go for a swim," Steve supplied easily. "Now move."

Both Barton and the SI man jumped out of the way as Steve strode forward, one drowned robot in his arms, and an incredibly embarrassed Darcy in his wake. She absolutely refused to look back as she followed him, her flip-flops sounding loudly in the hall, and her mind trying to imagine just how bad her ass looked in that moment.

"JARVIS?" Steve grunted as they reached the glass walls that separated Stark's workshop from the rest of the floor. "Little help?"

"Of course, Captain. Might I suggest you brace yourselves?"

The glass door swung open and music—incredibly _loud_ music—practically slapped them in the face. Darcy recognised it as something from the 70s—the wailing of the guitar was pretty distinctive—but it wasn't a hit song, or at least not one that she recognised. Stark was on the opposite end of the room, a protective mask over his face as he used a blowtorch to heat a piece of metal.

"Stark!" Steve called, trying to pitch his voice over the music. "Stark!"

The other man looked up suddenly, though Darcy couldn't see his eyes or his expression behind the mask. He made a gesture with his hand and suddenly the music cut off, leaving a slight ringing in Darcy's ears.

Stark pushed the mask up and released the trigger on the blowtorch. "What the fuck, Rogers? What'd you do to my robot? And why the hell are you dripping all over my floor?"

"Where do you want him?"

"What?"

Steve sighed. "Where do you want him?" he repeated, speaking as if Stark were a child.

Stark gestured to the side of the room. "You still haven't told me what the hell happened to him," he said, following Steve as he walked over and gently put the robot down.

"He fell in the pool."

"He fell in the _pool_?" Stark echoed. "What the hell was he doing down there?"

Steve looked to Darcy, and Stark followed his gaze. She watched as he took in her attire, and the items she still held pressed to her chest, and snorted.

"Figures. He's in love with you," he said scornfully. "What the hell made you think he'd be able to swim?"

"I never thought he could swim," Darcy said defensively. "He just rolled right into the pool before I could do anything!"

Stark glanced at DUM-E and rubbed one grease stained hand over his face, leaving black smudges on his cheeks and brow. "Idiot," he muttered.

"You're the one who made him that way," Darcy pointed out.

"It wasn't on purpose!" Stark said. He gestured at the robot with one hand. "I realised he was dumber than a sack of shit when I turned him on, but I was too lazy to fix him."

"So it's your fault he doesn't know that he can't swim," Steve said.

"If we're going to compare who knows what, you're still going to lose to my robot, Capsicle."

Steve rolled his eyes and turned to Darcy, holding out his hands. "I'll take that from you, thanks." He relieved her of his stuff, enabling her to finally wrap her towel around her waist without dropping everything she held on to the floor.

"Sorry, your socks are a bit wet," she mumbled.

"The rest of him is wet, he won't notice," Stark said.

"It's not a big deal," Steve said, ignoring Stark. "Thanks, Miss Lewis"

"I should be the one thanking you." She watched as he stuffed his phone and wallet in his dry shoes. "I would never have gotten him out of the pool on my own."

Steve shrugged slightly. "Glad to help," he told her, smiling sweetly.

Behind him, Stark snorted and turned back to his work. "Jesus, you're killing me here. Get out."

Steve shot a look at the back of Stark's head. "Are you going to fix him?"

Stark waved an uninterested hand. "When I have the time."

The answer seems to satisfy Steve, but Darcy felt a pang at the thought of a DUM-E free workday. She looked over at the sad pile of metal that he was, still wet from the pool, with all of his lights off.

"I'll do it," she said suddenly. Both Stark and Steve looked at her.

"You'll do what?" Stark asked.

"Fix him."

Stark's eyes roved over her, his expression inscrutable. It irritated the hell out of her that they all seemed capable of keeping their face's carefully blank when they wanted to. It was as if they had all attended a seminar and she had missed the memo. Darcy forced herself not to fidget despite the fact that she still felt exposed—even more so with Stark staring her down.

"Fine," he said after a long pause. "I listen to my music loud. Don't like it? Get out."

Darcy and Steve looked at each other, both apparently just as shocked as the other.

"JARVIS!" Stark called, turning back to his workstation once more. "Music!"

The music picked up exactly where it had left off, at an ear-shattering decibel. Darcy recognised the dismissal and, with Steve, she headed to the doors.


	5. Chapter 5

The beat of the drum reverberated through the floor and up through Darcy's body, joining in with the sound of her heart. She moved swiftly, each shift of her stance in time with the beat of the drum. It was monotonous, but soothing at the same time. Instead of putting her to sleep, it seemed to settle a part of her that she didn't know had been wild and flighty. With each beat she took up a new stance, a new move that had been taught to her by the Widow. It was an exercise in muscle memory, and Darcy was starting from the beginning exactly like a kid taking martial arts—only her teacher was a lot less indulgent when it came to distraction.

"Tuck your elbows in," the Widow barked suddenly. Darcy felt fingers lightly jab at her lower ribs. "You leave yourself open here. If you are hit here," another light jab of her finger, farther back, "and these ribs break, you may puncture your kidneys."

"That'd suck," Darcy said, slightly out of breath. The drum beat at a fairly quick tempo and she had to keep up with it, even if her body had started to ache.

"It would," the Widow agreed, stepping back to observe once more. "Resume."

Darcy did as she was told, moving seamlessly into the next position. When she wasn't doing her cardio or lifting weights she was being put through her paces like a show horse, but it was starting to pay off. She hardly had to think about the next position before her body was moving into it and that, she supposed, was pretty much the point of the constant repetition.

"I don't understand how this is going teach me to fight," Darcy confessed after a few more beats of the drum. "It's not like my opponent is going to agree on a fighting pattern before he or she wipes the floor with me."

She was, fortunately, facing the Widow as she spoke and was able to catch the lift of her lips as she smiled slightly. "No one will wipe the floor with you when I am done teaching you," the other woman promised. "This is to teach you the proper form for each attack and offense."

Romanov stepped into Darcy's pattern like a trickle of water joining a flood, it was seamless and in perfect sync. She began countering each of Darcy's moves, falling into the same rhythm as the drum. "This is to teach you to bring your arm up in a certain position when you see an attack coming at your head," she said as they moved, her hand making a graceful arc towards Darcy's skull just as Darcy raised her arm. They didn't make contact, but it was clear how they were meant to.

"What if I forget?"

"You will not forget if you always practice," the Widow assured her. "It will become instinct."

"You do these patterns?" Darcy asked sceptically. "When you're not teaching me, that is."

The Widow smiled that little smile of hers again. "I practice in other ways."

Darcy huffed a laugh. It was an awkward sound, considering that she was kind of out of breath and even talking was a bit of a challenge. "You mean you beat the shit out of people."

That little smile grew wider and became distinctly more mischievous. "Yes," Romanov admitted, with a slight tilt to her head. "It is practice."

She stepped out of the dance they were doing just as smoothly as she'd entered it, making Darcy's mock kick hit nothing but thin air. "You may stop," Romanov said, peeling her gloves off finger by finger. "We are done for today."

Darcy let out a relieved breath. Her body was slowly getting used to the work, but it was an uphill battle considering she'd spent most of her life doing nothing more strenuous than the occasional move from apartment to apartment or a mad dash for the bus. She tried not to drag her feet as she walked over the bench and picked up her towel and water bottle, using the former to wipe the sweat off of her face and neck. It bothered her to no end when her hair stuck to her sweaty skin.

She looked up at the Widow as she took a swig from her bottle, noting that the redhead looked like she'd been lounging about all day despite the fact that she'd gotten in a fairly good workout as well—she always did during their sessions.

"It's unnatural how little you sweat," Darcy said, wiping her face with her towel again. "Is there something in the water over in Russia or am I just a beast of a woman?"

Romanov looked up at her and flashed a small smile, but it wasn't the one that Darcy was used to. She was used to the one that was almost shy and bashful, as if not sure that smiling was allowed. This one looked hard and forced.

"There is much about me that is unnatural, but my sweat is not one."

She turned away from Darcy, gathering up her things, and Darcy was suddenly struck with the feeling that she'd stuck her foot in her mouth—although how was a mystery.

"Hey, Agent Romanov—I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Darcy asked tentatively. "I didn't mean to offend."

The Widow turned, her face wiped clean of any and all emotion. "You did not," she said, her tone just as blank as her face. She swung her gym bag over her shoulder and gave Darcy a nod of the head. "I will see you in two days."

Darcy watched her leave the gym, still feeling like she'd managed to shove her foot in her mouth. Perhaps both of them. With a sigh, she peeled off her gloves and ran a hand over her face. She felt disgusting.

Grabbing her own gym bag, she headed for the change rooms and the showers that lay within. She'd stopped being shocked and mildly offended by the luxury that Tony Stark surrounded himself with in absolutely every respect and had instead started to enjoy it. This was particularly true when it came to the showers in any part of the Tower. Normal gyms had stalls that had a door with a lock and a shower head that gave enough pressure if you were lucky. Stark's showers were made of frosted glass and had no less than six shower heads positioned all around so that the bather could enjoy a full body aquatic massage if they so pleased, or stand under a gentle waterfall if it tickled their fancy.

Decisions, decisions, Darcy mused, peeling off her sticky clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor.

She lingered under the spray, rotating sore muscles that were learning the hard way just how many exercises could be done with a 25lb dumbbell, and thinking of all the things that needed to be done. Jane's spectrometer required a new calibration after she'd changed the program's parameters _again_ and while Jane was a brilliant woman, hardware was not her forte. Her last blunder with causing the spectrometer to overheat not withstanding, Jane couldn't be trusted to not put windshield wiper fluid in the transmission of her car. Never mind the fact that Darcy couldn't figure out how Jane had even _accessed _the transmission in order to drain the fluid and replace it with the car version of Windex. Jane had skills when it came to breaking machines, and Darcy was none too inclined to let her anywhere near the beautiful creature that she'd spent the better part of three months designing and building.

Then there was the anchors for the Einstein-Rosen bridge that Jane wanted to build to get Thor back, if only so she could punch him on his perfect jaw for having her shipped off to Tromsø and Darcy along with her. Not that Darcy would complain. Norway was a beautiful country and it was cold enough that she could wear her gloves most of the time without looking out of place. As much as Darcy wanted to see her favourite Nordic god again, the anchors had taken the back burner in her mind, if not in Jane's.

Sergeant Barnes—_James_, as she'd been calling him in her mind—had suddenly become the focus of her days, and was that really healthy? She didn't even know the man, and yet here she was, spreading herself thin to try to pull him out of his head. She was way out of her depth with him, and she felt like she was stumbling around blind. Stumbling led to tripping, and that's how people got hurt. She tipped her face back into the water to rinse out the last of the conditioner, and then shut everything off.

"JARVIS?" she asked, reaching for a towel.

"Yes, Miss Lewis?"

"Is there any way for me to contact Professor Xavier myself?" She wrapped the towel around her body and stepped out of the shower. "I know one of the Avengers has reached out to him, and that he's on some sort of personal thing, but I was wondering if I might send him some sort of message myself?"

"That can be arranged, Miss Lewis. Would you prefer a voice message, or a transcript?"

"Oh. Um…" Darcy sat down on the bench in front of her locker and thought about it for a moment. "A voice message is more personal, isn't it? Let's do that."

"Of course, Miss. Would you like to do it now?"

She looked down at herself. "Just voice, right JARVIS?"

"That is correct. There are no video cameras in this room, nor in the showers."

"Really?" she asked, intrigued. "I thought you saw all?"

"I do see all, Miss Lewis," JARVIS replied, and if it was possible he sounded just a tad affronted. "Heat sensing cameras track your movement without violating your privacy."

"Well, that's a relief," she said honestly. "Okay, so…do I just start talking?"

"Correct."

"All right. So, um…Hello Professor Xavier. My name is Darcy Lewis, you might have heard of me already, and I'm sorry for bothering you." She paused, feeling awkward. It was odd, almost like talking to herself but…not. She hated leaving normal voice messages, and this was especially uncomfortable. "I know that you're dealing with some sort of personal business right now but I find myself in need of some serious help. I'm afraid that I'm going to make things worse than they already are and…" She paused again, unsure of what she wanted to say. "I don't want to hurt anyone, and I'm scared that I might. I don't know what I'm doing, I've never done this kind of thing before." Once she had started, the words began rushing out of her. "What if I screw his head up even more than he already is? I don't even know if that's possible, because he's pretty fucked up as is, but what if? I've spent most of my life trying to _not_ use my powers and now… now it's like I'm being thrown in the deep end and it's sink or swim but sinking isn't an option because it could ruin not just his life, or even _my_ life but Ste—Captain America's too." She dropped her head into her hands and took a deep breath. "This isn't the kind of message I planned on leaving but…I need help, sir, and I'm not above begging so please, if you can spare any time at all, I just need some advice."

She looked up at the ceiling, a reflexive habit when interacting with JARVIS. "Uhm, that's it JARVIS."

"Your message has been recorded. Would you like it played back to you?"

Darcy snorted. "God, no."

"Would you like it to be sent then, Miss?"

Part of her wanted to say no. It wasn't exactly a dignified message, but then again, perhaps her growing desperation would be evident in that rambling mess and he'd take pity on her.

Cause she knew she needed help. Massive help.

James Barnes was dealing with a hell of a lot more than she was equipped to handle, that much was evident from her short trips within his mind. She remembered his emotions, the disorienting tumult of guilt and a confusion, of his inability to recognise it when she tried to show him love and affection in order to calm him. He needed someone way more qualified than her. Hell, he _deserved_ better.

"Send the message, please, JARVIS. Thank you."

"Of course, Miss Lewis."

The A.I. was always so formal with her, he reminded her of Steve sometimes. He still called her Miss Lewis, as if they'd just met. Though, she reminded herself, Steve was from a different era. Perhaps he needed her permission to call her 'Darcy'. It was a thought to ponder.

"Hey, JARVIS?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"You know you can call me Darcy if you want, right?"

There was a pause, only really noticeable because JARVIS was usually so prompt, and then he said, "Do you wish for me to call you Darcy?"

She shrugged, even though he probably couldn't see it all that well. "It's up to you. I don't mind either way."

"Duly noted, Miss Darcy."

She smiled to herself. "Cheeky," she muttered.

**xXx**

Darcy was shocked to find the area in front of Sergeant Barnes' room lacking a certain superhero. She approached the window beside his door and peered in, fully expecting to see Steve sitting next to the bed or something, but the room was conspicuously empty of anyone except Barnes who lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"You want some coffee?"

She let out an inhumanely high-pitched yelp and spun around. Steve stood there, a paper cup in each hand and a mildly shocked expression on his face.

"Sorry," he said, his lips curling into a smile. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"How a man your size moves without a sound is honestly beyond me," she said, her embarrassment making her tone sharp. "You need a bell."

Steve just smiled wider and held out one of the cups for her. "I only put a little sugar in it."

Darcy took it from him. "So you mean a regular amount instead of that diabetes inducing syrup you usually drink?" she asked teasingly. "You know, your pancreas probably hates you."

He shrugged with one shoulder. "I think I'll be fine."

She had no idea what being a super soldier entailed, but if he could live to talk about getting shot, dropped out of a crashing Hellicarrier, and nearly drowned in a river then he could probably eat all the sugar he wanted and skip the whole diabetes thing.

Darcy took a sip of the hot coffee and hummed with pleasure when the flavour of coffee and not just sugar washed over her tongue.

"Good?"

"I'd give you a gold star," Darcy sassed, "but rumour has it that you've already got one."

He chuckled. "Mine isn't gold."

"Well, then we'll just have to get you one, won't we?"

He shook his head, smiling, and took a long sip of his coffee before he responded. "You're not what I expected, Miss Lewis."

She arched an eyebrow. "Do I want to know what you expected?"

Quite abruptly, he looked uncomfortable. Darcy watched as colour crept up his neck and into his face. Her other eyebrow went up, intrigued. "Women are…Well, I'm not used to…" He trailed off and rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, looking mighty awkward. "I like you," he blurted out, and then immediately looked horrified. "I mean, not in—I just—Ah, hell."

Darcy clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing at him. She had a good idea of what he was trying to say, but he was fumbling all over his words like a football player with butter on their hands.

"I've never had a dame for a friend," he tried to explain, his face flaming red. "And, I just…Women are so different from what I'm used to and…"

"I think I know what you're trying to say, Steve," she said smiling. "But friends call each other by their first names, you know. So how about you call me Darcy, and I'll call you Stevie or something equally awful?"

He managed to look immensely relieved, whilst simultaneously wincing. "I suppose it's better than 'Capsicle'," he said.

"Anything is better than that," Darcy agreed.

His shoulders relaxed as he laughed with just a touch of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit of an idiot."

"Nah," she reached out and gave him a gentle shove, making sure not to touch his bare skin. "I think of you as a friend, too."

"Yeah?" he asked. "Even after I…Well, you know."

Darcy shrugged. She wasn't interested in rehashing that. It had quickly become clear to her that what had happened that day was an aberration and not in Steve's usual nature. "Even after all that," she agreed.

He relaxed even further, and a smile played about his lips. "Good," he said. "That's good."

She glanced into the window to see Barnes lying there, still staring at the ceiling, as expected. She knew that she ought to go inside there and do what she came down to the medical floor to do, but she didn't have the heart for it. Instead, she turned her attention more firmly towards Steve.

"You know," she hesitated for a moment, and then decided to plough on with her thought, "you'd have more lady friends if you went out a bit more often."

Steve grimaced suddenly and shook his head. "I'm not very good with dames and women are…" he shrugged, "they're very…different."

"You mean modern women?"

He nodded and looked down at his coffee. "I'm not used to…to any of it. Modern or…_old fashioned_," he said with a tone.

"Well, I suppose purple hair and septum piercings are a bit much for a man like you," she said lightly.

"That's an understatement," he said laughingly. "Nat is always trying to fix me up with someone."

Darcy's eyebrows went up again at the casual mention of Agent Romanov. "I didn't realise you guys were at all close."

"She's a good friend," Steve said.

"I thought you said you didn't have any lady friends."

"She's not a—" He stopped mid-sentence as he realised what he was about to say. "I mean, she _is_ a dame but—" He broke off again and gave her a helpless look. "Anything I say is just going to make it worse, isn't it?"

Darcy laughed. "I'm not sure if it's a compliment to her or an insult that you seem to forget that she's a woman."

"I don't _forget_," he corrected. "She's just…She's _Natasha_."

"She's more than a friend or a woman," Darcy surmised. "She's a comrade."

Steve turned to the window to look at Barnes. "She is," he said quietly.

Darcy fell silent and watched him as he watched his friend, his comrade. She couldn't imagine what it was like inside his head—or any of their heads for that matter. She knew that they all came with a back story, with baggage. The Widow's reaction to her simple teasing earlier was evidence of that. Clearly Darcy had said something that hit a nerve, and she had her suspicions that it was the word 'unnatural'. It had to be lonely, she realised, for all of them, but especially for Steve. He was always apart from everyone around him in practically every way. With his pressed khakis and his button up shirts tucked into his belt he couldn't blend in with contemporary men on the street. His uniform set him apart from other S.H.E.I.L.D operatives—or _former_ S.H.E.I.L.D operatives, she corrected herself—and it was only when he was with the Avengers that he didn't stand out _quite_ so much. Mentally, well, that was a whole different ball game.

In a way, she wanted to tell him that he had to move on, adapt to the new world, but that was probably a lot easier said than done and who was she to judge?

"I spent so much time looking for him," Steve said suddenly. "Almost two years. Now that I've found him…I don't know what to do with myself."

"Well, what did you do before you knew he was alive?" Darcy asked.

"Trained," he said. "Did missions for S.H.E.I.L.D."

She shook her head ruefully. "You don't necessarily have to get out and socialise, but you do need to get a life, Steve."

He smiled slightly and dragged his free hand through his hair. "I know, but there are only so many books I can read before I don't know what's going on. It seems like there's an endless amount of catching up to be done and…I just don't have the heart for it.

"What about meeting new people?" she suggested. "Not for dating, but just for friendship. The easiest way to learn about a new culture is to immerse yourself in it, and this," she gestured with her hand at the world around them, "_is_ a new culture to you."

"It's kind of hard to make friends when it always means lying right from the beginning."

Darcy wrinkled her nose at that. "Point," she conceded. "But what about the rest of the team, and people like Agent Hill?"

He looked thoughtful for a second. "I spend time with Sam."

"Every time I see you, or any time I ask JARVIS where to find you, you're up here, Steve," she said, nodding her head in the direction of Barnes' room. "When was the last time you had an actual conversation with Sam?" Steve opened his mouth to respond. "One that lasted longer than five minutes and covered more than the basics of 'How you doing, Stevie?'" She put on her best deep, masculine voice to imitate both Sam and Steve and held her arms out as if she were loaded with muscles. "'Not bad, brah. You?'" Darcy dropped her arms and gave him a look. "Because that doesn't count as a conversation."

Steve was eyeballing her like she'd just sprouted a couple more heads. "Why on Earth would I call Sam a brassiere?"

Darcy clapped a hand over her face and shook her head. "It's a colloquialism and it means 'brother', not 'brassiere," she explained with a smile. Steve still looked immensely confused so she held out her hand. "Phone, por favor."

"What are you going to do?" Steve asked warily, even as he reached into his pocket.

"Install an app that will help you look up terms you don't understand, whether they're slang or not," she said, plucking his phone out of his fingers and letting her thumbs fly. "It's a user based thing, so you'll get multiple answers but usually the top one is the most correct."

"How do you…?" Steve moved closer, peering over her shoulder and watching as she pulled up the app program on the phone and began searching for Urban Dictionary. She quickly found it and clicked 'Install'. The StarkPhone, being made by a Stark, downloaded the application and opened it up in record time.

"There's a word of the day feature," Darcy said, using her index finger to point it out to him. "Be careful though, they're not always PG-13, so don't just whip it out while you're on the bus. Well, not unless you want the tiny little old ladies to judge you."

"Duly noted," he said, taking the phone back as she handed it over. "So I just type in the word I'm looking for?"

Darcy nodded. "As long as you're spelling it correctly, it should come up. If you don't know how to spell it, open up Google and sound it out. Google knows pretty much everything; it'll figure it out. If all else fails, you could always ask JARVIS."

Steve looked up the ceiling. "Pretty sure there are some things I'd rather not ask JARVIS."

Darcy patted his arm consolingly. "Yeah, well, at least you never asked your middle-school French teacher what _voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir_ means."

She could tell by how his eyes widened slightly that he knew exactly what those words meant. "Why would you ask your French teacher _that_?"

"Look up the song 'Lady Marmalade' later," Darcy advised. "Make sure you're alone though."

"Am I going to regret this?" Steve asked.

Darcy dipped her head from side to side, making a 'maybe' face. "Quite possibly. It might actually ruin you for the movie Moulin Rouge, so watch that first and then look up the song." She swigged the rest of her coffee. "Remember, Google is both wondrous and terrifying and should be used with caution."

Steve made a face. "I'm not very fond of computers," he told her. "The last one I met tried to kill me."

"You _met_ a—I'm sorry, _what_?" Darcy gaped at him, all thoughts of Mya, Christina, and the gals scandalizing poor Steve fled her mind.

"True story," Steve said, giving her a lopsided grin.

"Ew." She wrinkled her nose. "Don't start talking like Stark. It's wrong on so many levels. In fact, delete that Urban Dictionary app. Stark talks exactly like that."

"Apologies, ma'am." He gave her a nod of his head and tipped an imaginary cap, making Darcy roll her eyes at him.

"Smart ass," she muttered. "Seriously, though. How does one _meet_ a computer, and how does said computer try to _kill_ you? Last I checked they were relatively inanimate, unless designed by Stark."

Steve's face lost some of its humour and Darcy immediately felt like kicking herself. She hadn't thought about the fact that if a computer was trying to kill him, it probably wasn't a happy story. She watched as his lips twisted into a sour expression and his gaze shifted to the window next to them. "How about I tell you another time?" He nodded his head towards Barnes. "We should probably go in."

Darcy followed his gaze. As far as she could tell, Barnes hadn't moved. He lay on his back, eyes staring vacantly up at the ceiling. Darcy felt the levity of the moment leave her as she contemplated going in there and touching the Sergeant again. There was an undeniable part of her that was starting to regret offering to help, and that made her feel guilty as hell.

"You're right, we should." She forced a smile on to her face for Steve and opened the door to the room before he could realise that it was fake.

She dropped her empty coffee cup in the bin next to the door before approaching the bed. Steve grabbed a chair and dragged it over for her.

"Thanks," she said, pulling it closer to the bed before sitting down.

"Hello, James."

As expected, there was no response. Darcy cast about for something else to say. Making small talk with strangers was awkward enough when all parties were capable of actually talking. Deciding to just bite the bullet, she cast one last look at Steve's anxious face, before she reached out and slipped her hand under Barnes'.

She was ready for him, ready for the pounce that she'd experienced before, but her caution turned to shock when she realised that, too, was ready for _her_.

He'd been waiting.

Unlike the last time, he reached out gently, his consciousness brushing against hers instead of trying to swallow and consume it. She could feel his confusion, and his lingering fear, but also a sense of curiosity. It made her heart skip a beat with excitement.

_'Becca?_

Darcy barely had the time to register the sound of his mental voice, a deep, smooth masculine sound, before an image flickered across her consciousness. It was dim, and the background almost non-existent, but the face of a young woman stood out so clear, so colourful, that Darcy knew that this face was important. Before it could disappear back into his mind, Darcy reached out for the memory and pulled it forward, forcing them both to view the memory.

_"Mama's gonna whoop you."_

_"Only if you tattle on me."_

_She laughs, throwing her head back with exuberance. People glance at her, drawn in by her brightness, and her beauty. Her hair is loose and flowing, catching the sun and reflecting reds and golds that don't usually show in the normally deep brown. It's not very fashionable for a woman to leave her hair untouched or styled, but 'Becca has never really cared about acting like a lady should._

_He links his arms with hers and he can feel the warmth of her body through the cheap coats they're wearing._

_"I won't tattle on you, James, but you know Mama. She goin' to find out no matter what you do."_

_He grins at her, confident in his ability to smooth-talk his way out of trouble with his mother. _

_"You let me worry about that, doll._"

The memory ended as abruptly as it began, and Darcy _knew_ that there had to be more, but when she reached, she only found darkness and his growing confusion

_James_?

She reached out for that part of his consciousness that was _him_ and not his memories, or the lack thereof. She was relieved when he reached back.

_'Becca_?

The woman's face flashed through their minds again. Blue eyes, long dark hair, and a sweet, crooked smile.

Darcy could see how, on a most basic level, he might confuse her with whoever 'Becca was. They both had long dark hair, blue eyes, and imperfect teeth, but what the memory really told her was that Sergeant Barnes was at least a little bit aware of his surroundings. He'd seen her and made the connection to this woman in his fragmented memory.

_Who is 'Becca_, _James_?

The face flashed through their minds again, but it was a different memory. This one was dimmer than the other, more deeply seated in shadows, as if he couldn't recall the details. 'Becca's eyes were the focus of his thoughts, though, how tears welled up along her eyelids, and how her gaze darted distractedly from side to side. There was no emotion attached to either of the memories, only a sense of general confusion. Darcy knew then that he had no idea who 'Becca was either.

_'Becca_?

_I'm not 'Becca, James. My name is Darcy._

His reaction was instantaneous, and not at all what she expected. He withdrew so quickly that Darcy scrambled to hold on to him, to follow him as he retreated within his own consciousness. The fear reappeared, surging up within both of them, and with it came the anger that seeped from him to her. It crouched deep in her belly, cloying and thick.

_James, please calm do—_

He pulled away again, harder this time, but Darcy was determined. She followed him deeper into his own consciousness, deeper into the darkness that was his mind. She felt like Alice traipsing down the rabbit hole, and just like Alice, she got a surprise when she reached the bottom.

Another memory welled up, this one sharp and clear, and saturated with emotion.

_He knows the room, though he can't remember where or when he's been there, only that he has. His skin crawls with awareness, his ears picking up the minute sounds of cloth brushing against cloth, of a set of lungs quietly breathing at rest, of a man adjusting his grip on his gun._

_He knows, without a doubt, that there are guns trained on him. There always are._

_When the man enters the room, he is not surprised. He was expecting him—or he ought to have been. He knows this man's face, just as well as he knows the room. The sight of him brings a sense of anticipation, though he doesn't know why._

_"It is time. You are needed."_

_He doesn't nod, doesn't say a word, but he follows the man with his eyes as he waits for instruction. The man will tell him exactly what needs to be done, and he will do it. Because that is what he does._

_He tosses a folder down on the table nearby. It is thick with papers and photographs, some of which spill out, showing the edges of surveillance shots. He is familiar with this, too._

_"This is your target," the man says, gesturing at the folder. "It is to look like an accident."_

_At that, he does nod, acknowledging the order. He reaches for the folder, flipping it open to see a pretty, smiling woman looking back at him. He will hav to read the file in detail to determine how best to kill her but from the quick skim that he does of the first page it seems to be an easy mission. The woman is a rich man's housewife, and those women do not often pose much of a challenge. Their luxurious lives presented many variables with which to kill them and his mind begins to flick through them. A boating accident, a fall down the stairs, a previously unknown drug addiction. He glances over the name and feels a spark of recognition _

_"Stark?"_

_The man, who had been about to leave, pauses. He turns back, his expression no longer relaxed._

_"Yes. Stark," the man says, his words sharp._

_He frowns slightly, trying to remember where he knows that name from. _

_"You've heard of them before. They are an enemy of Hydra," the man informs him, as if he can read minds. He looks up at him, reassured by this information. Of course he would know the name if they are an enemy of Hydra. "Which makes your mission all the more important," the man continues, walking back over to place a hand on his bare shoulder. Warmth unfurls in his stomach, and he knows that he will do everything in his power to make sure that the mission is a success. She will—_

_— "done well, my son," the man is saying, but he has not been paying attention. The word 'son' catches at his attention though, and his head tilts to the side unconsciously as he contemplates it. He knows what it means, technically, but he does not know if he is the man's son. Before he can think on it further, the hand on his shoulder squeezes gently and he dismisses the thoughts. It does not matter. He is the asset, and he will make the man proud of him. _

_He watches as the man turns away and nods at a woman in the room, one wearing a long white coat. This, too, he recognises, and it sets his body on edge as she approaches._

_"Wipe him, and reset. Call me when it's done."_

_The woman approaches with a piece of black rubber in her hand, and instantly he knows that something is wrong. He jerks back from it instinctively, his eyes darting to the man as the piece of rubber is pushed into his mouth, between his teeth. The warmth disappears, replaced by terror that bleeds through his entire body. He makes a move to get up, but then there are hands on him. He struggles, and the man watches for a moment, his lips tight and his eyes hard, before turning around to leave the room. He starts to thrash, crying out, but the man never turns back. He watches the man's back retreat, his gut churning, as the machines around him begin to hum. The hands are replaced with metal, but before he can test his strength against it, pain screams through his body, making his teeth clench around the rubber over his tongue. He knows, now, why they put it there, and why—_

Pain lanced through Darcy's head and she fell backwards, grabbing her skull with a scream. The pain was not hers, not really, but for a moment the memory of it was enough to completely debilitate her. It ricocheted through her body like lightning, and before she could even think twice about it, she was vomiting all over herself and the edge of the bed beside her.

"Darcy! God, Darcy! JARVIS, get medical in here, now!"

She pressed her face against the soft bed, trying to drown out the sound of that frantic voice. Her body heaved once more, and she gagged at the burn of bile being forced out. Hands pulled her backwards, pulling her into a warm embrace. The world rapidly began blurring around the edges, and she could feel the darkness rising up for her, but the one thing that remained crystal clear was the pair of icy blue eyes that were watching her.


End file.
